Adam
by Katt9966
Summary: It's noncon and very dark. There's no happy ending here.
1. Chapter 1

Title: - Adam

Author: - Katt

Rating: - M

Fandom: - The Shield

Pairing: - Dutch/OMC

Warnings: - It's non-con and very dark. There's not much happiness here folks.

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Author's Notes: - This fic was written for the 2005 NaNoWriMo that finished yesterday. I made it to 26,790 words on November 30th so just a little short of the 50,000-word target LOL.

Adam – Prologue

He had his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that sparkles of colour exploded beneath his closed eye lids like fireworks igniting in the darkened sky on the fourth of July. The colours, illusions being produced by his visual cortex, burned brightly and he felt his arms contract even tighter around his knees as he tried to hold himself in. The thin mattress he was sat on kept the cold from his feet and backside but the freezing damp from the brick wall he was leaning against leached its way through his thin shirt numbing the skin on his back and reaching down inside of him to freeze his bones. He barely felt the pain as he rhythmically banged his head back against the bricks, the sharp copper tang of blood filling his mouth as his teeth broke through the delicate skin of his lower lip as he concentrated hard on keeping inside the howls that threatened to come streaming from his mouth.

He knew the blackness was out there waiting for him. It was always there like a shroud covering him, suffocating him never letting him escape. Sometimes he could actually feel it, like it was a living thing swirling around him, watching him, waiting to pounce, to swallow him whole. He knew if he opened his eyes it would be there, surrounding him. At least with his eyes closed he could pretend, fool himself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, when he opened them light would be waiting for him. Colour and life and freedom would be waiting for him. The colourful visual illusions he could see behind his eye lids reminding of what he missed, of what had been taken away from him.

Vision and colour that had been stolen from him not by an accident or an illness, but by some unseen person or people. It wasn't that he'd been blinded, no he'd just had all the light taken away from him. He'd awoken to find himself buried alive in a square brick room about twelve feet by ten feet with a thin mattress on the floor, a blanket, a toilet and wash basin in one corner and no light.

At first he'd panicked thinking he had been blinded. But since he felt no pain or discomfort, except a slight feeling of nausea upon awaking which he assumed was due to the cloying sickly sweet smell that had been on the cloth that had been forced over his nose and mouth before he'd passed out, he soon dismissed that theory and came to the conclusion he'd merely had all light taken from him.

_Merely had all light taken from him…_how innocuous that sounded, like an inconvenience nothing more. Now he realised how stupid, naïve he'd been then. He would sell his soul for some light – a candle, a torch, even a match that would bathe him in it's glow just for a few short seconds would be something.

Suddenly he couldn't stand the illusion of colour anymore and he snapped his eyes open and was immediately swallowed up into the darkness. Unable to keep his despair inside anymore he gave up the battle with himself and parted his bloody and bitten lips and screamed into the black feeling his sanity slipping further away from his tenuous grasp.


	2. Adam Chapter 1

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 1

For someone who'd been picked up in possession of five kilos of cocaine and $200,000 Juan Martinez was very calm. He hadn't shouted about his rights, he hadn't shouted for his lawyer. He just sat in the interview room with a slight smile on his face and studied his fingernails, occasionally breaking his silence by whistling the theme tune to the TV show CSI. The whole thing was beginning to unsettle Vic as he watched him on the TV in the observation room.

"He's a cool bastard." Shane remarked next to him.

"Yeah…a little too cool," Vic agreed. Turning to Shane he smiled and added, "Let's see what we can do about that."

Shane grinned back and followed him to the room where Martinez was.

As they entered Martinez looked up at them and smiled,

"Ah, I wondered when you were gonna be joining me. I wanna make a deal."

Vic snorted as he leaned back against the closed door watching as Shane circled around to stand behind the prisoner.

"Five keys of coke and money that's no doubt gonna turn up covered in drug's residue when it's tested which is gonna tie it and you to drug deals, and you wanna make a deal. I think we're kinda happy with things the way they are. What do you think Detective Vendrell?" Vic said looking over Martinez's head to Shane standing behind him.

"Oh yeah, I'm happy." He beamed back.

Turning once more to Martinez Vic continued,

"There you go so thanks…but no thanks."

Still Martinez didn't flinch; he merely raised an eyebrow and widened his smile. Vic was becoming curious in spite of himself. Whatever cards Martinez was holding they must be good cause he wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"Oh, I think you'll change your mind. I think you'll wanna know about this. In fact I think you'll get the DA down here personally to cut me loose in exchange for what I know."

Vic once more glanced at Shane who widened his eyes and shrugged.

Crossing his arms across his chest Vic feigned indifference, while inside a strange sense of foreboding was making his stomach clench and his heart beat faster. However, he managed to keep a poker face when he calmly smirked at Martinez and said,

"I don't think so shit-head."

"Oh really." Martinez replied, his cocky, smarmy attitude really starting to annoy Vic. "Not even if I could tell you the whereabouts of something you've lost?"

Frowning Vic asked,

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Martinez leant forward in his chair, staring intently at Vic,

"About a year ago you lost one of your own. He's there one minute and then poof…" He snapped his fingers to illustrate his point, "…disappeared without a trace."

Vic's eyes snapped up to look at Shane who stared back at him wide-eyed, before he growled out from behind Martinez,

"You better not be yanking our chain, or you're gonna wish you never climbed out of whatever truck you smuggled yourself over the boarder in asshole."

Turning slightly to look back over his shoulder at Shane, Martinez's smile never slipped and he opened his arms wide and answered him,

"Would I lie to you?"

He was too confident, had been all along. He knew something Vic was sure of it,

"You better not be, or spending twenty-five years in Pelican Bay is gonna be the least of your worries." Vic snarled. Then he added, "What do you know?"

His attention once more focused entirely on Vic, Martinez narrowed his eyes at him before replying,

"Do we have a deal?"

"Tell me what you know."

Martinez merely stared back at him tight lipped and wary, and Vic was forced to concede,

"Tell me what you know and if it's as important as you think it is I'll talk to the DA."

Martinez considered Vic's answer for a moment before coming to his decision. Eventually he nodded slightly and then said,

"Two weeks ago I was a guest of Taylor Fitzgerald. We had some…cross-boarder business to discuss. We've known each other for about ten years, and we've done business together before…although this is the first time in a couple of years. The coke is his. Payment for some M-16's that I'm supposed to be brokering a deal for. The two hundred grand is my fee for being the middleman. Anyway while I was at Taylor's place he showed me his pet. At least that's what Taylor calls him. He knew I'd be coming here to set up the gun deal so he thought it was real funny, said his pet used to be a cop in LA…from Farmington."

Moving forward to stand in front of the table Vic asked in a quiet voice,

"What do you mean "his pet"?" Knowing as he did that he wasn't going to like the answer.

Martinez detected the dangerous tone to Vic's voice and leaned back away from him spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture,

"Like I said that's what Taylor called him. I've heard plenty of rumors about Taylor and his "pets", but I've never met one before. Taylor's rich, ruthless and fucking insane. If he sees something and wants it…he takes it. He's got certain…tastes that he likes to indulge." As he spoke Martinez lost some of his cockiness and actually began to look a little uncomfortable. "He must be fond of your boy cause from what I've heard he usually gets bored with his little fucktoys after a couple of months and gets rid of them."

Vic felt his stomach turn when Martinez's turn of phrase pretty much confirmed the unsavoury conclusions he'd been reaching in his own mind. Having to make sure his voice was steady before he spoke he took a deep breath and then asked,

"Did you see him?"

Martinez nodded, not having to ask whom the "him" referred to,

"Yeah, Taylor introduced us."

Fighting down the urge to punch something Vic continued,

"Did you speak to him?"

"Not too much. He was pretty quiet…withdrawn. To be honest I think he was a bit…" Martinez made a circular motion with one finger at the side of his head. " Not that you could blame him I guess. A year as Taylor's plaything would be enough to make anybody a little…um…a little unbalanced."

Jesus, this was just getting worse by the second, but Vic had to know as much as possible,

"What about his name? Did this Taylor tell you his name?"

Nodding Martinez replied,

"Adam, he said."

Vic felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment flood through him. He began to turn away when Martinez quickly added,

"That's nothing. I told you Taylor's insane right…he calls all his "pets" Adam. I've no idea why you'd have to ask him, but they all quickly learn to answer to it."

Turning back Vic asked,

"Can you describe him?"

"Sure…sure. White, in his thirties, tall, slim, brown hair, blue eyes."

"If I show you some pictures would you be able to pick him out?"

"Absolutely."

Vic considered for a moment before motioning Shane to join him outside.

"You wait here." He said to Martinez.

"You'll talk to the DA?" Martinez asked him.

"Choose the right picture and yeah we'll make a deal."

Martinez leant back in his chair, his smile back in place,

"I thought you might." He said.


	3. Adam Chapter 2

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 2

Once outside with the door shut behind them Shane burst out,

"Jesus Vic, do you really think it's him? That's he's alive?"

"I don't know. To be honest I just kinda assumed he was in a shallow grave somewhere."

"Yeah," Shane nodded his agreement. "I think most of us did."

"You stay here and make sure shit-head doesn't speak to anybody. I'm going to see Aceveda, get some photos. And Shane not a word until we know for sure okay?"

Shane nodded.

Vic knocked sharply on Aceveda's door, and was stepping inside before Aceveda had gotten the first word of "come in" out of his mouth.

Seeing who his visitor was Aceveda put his pen down and leaned back in his chair saying,

"Yes." His tone impatient.

"That drug dealer we brought in…Martinez…wants to cut a deal with the DA. Says he knows where Dutch is…that he's alive."

The closed, guarded look left the Captain's face at Vic's words,

"Are you sure?"

Vic sighed,

"That's what he said. Says he saw him two weeks ago. I need some photos so we can see if he's able to pick Dutch's picture out, but I can't use mugshots. I'll need photos from some personnel files or something."

Aceveda didn't move he just stared at Vic. Vic could understand his feelings; he was still feeling pretty shell-shocked himself.

His voice sounding a little unsteady Aceveda asked,

"What did he say? Where is he? Is he alright?"

"He said some piece of shit called Taylor Fitzgerald has him. He's had him all this time."

"Why?"

Vic felt uncomfortable. It was one thing when these things happened to citizens, strangers, but Dutch was one of their own, a colleague.

"He ah…he implied it's a…um…a sex thing."

David Aceveda paled, a look of disgust on his face,

"Shit." He murmured.

Pulling himself together he picked up his phone and connected himself to his assistant's desk,

"Nina I need some personnel files…I want Pete Shockley's, Ronnie Gardocki's, Mark Stone's, Michael French's and Ben Rossi's…No…No that's all…As quickly as you can."

After he'd replaced the receiver Vic frowned at him and reminded him,

"And Dutchboy's. We need his as well."

"I know." Aceveda said in a quiet voice.

Pulling open the top drawer of his desk he reached in and pulled out a pale blue folder. Flicking open the top page Dutch's face stared up at them from the Department ID photo paperclipped to the first page. They both looked at the serious face that they hadn't seen in the flesh for a little over a year now, and then, as if on a signal, they looked at each other,

"You keep his file in your desk?" Vic simply said.

Something that was both a statement of fact and a question.

"Yeah," Aceveda said sadly. "Never knowing what happened to him, it's never sat right. I didn't want to file him away as if…as if we'd forgotten about him." Looking up at Vic he added, "I take it out sometimes go over everything…see if there's something we missed. I know there isn't but still…And I wonder what really happened that night. If it was…bad. If he suffered…It just plays on my mind."

"I know what you mean. It's kept me awake for a few nights too." Vic confessed. "It's true what they say…it's the not knowing that's worst."

"Have you told Claudette?"

Vic shook his head,

"Christ no. Not until we know for sure. Until shit-head in there picks out his picture. I remember what she was like when he first went missing. She nearly worked herself into a breakdown. Then six months ago when they dug those bodies up at Roland Heights. I bet she didn't sleep those entire two days while they checked the dental records."

"She didn't." Aceveda confirmed sadly.

"She's only just accepted Josh as her new partner. I don't want to get her hopes up for nothing. If Martinez picks Dutch's photo well…then it's your call." Vic said, glad to be able to pass the buck.

"Thanks." Aceveda replied with a tight smile.

Both men feel silent as Nina opened the door, coming in with the files that Aceveda had requested. As she put them down on his desk she couldn't help but notice the open file already there, and who's it was. She looked at Aceveda and asked,

"Has something happened? Has he been found?"

"We don't know yet…maybe. Until we do no one else is to be told anything."

Looking a little insulted that her integrity had been questioned Nina said

"Of course not."

She turned to leave, but paused at the door, her hand on the handle and looking back at them said,

"I hope it's good news."

"So do we." Aceveda replied.

She nodded and then returned to her desk.

Reaching out Aceveda pulled the files towards him, and quickly pulled the photos from each one laying them on his desk. Finally, he pulled Dutch's picture from his file and placed it next to the others. Each picture had been taken against the standard blue background, and each face was unsmiling and serious.

"They'll do." Vic confirmed.

"Then let's go." Aceveda said as he scooped up the six photos.


	4. Adam First Interlude

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam – First Interlude

Dutch began to wake up but very quickly realised that he wished he didn't have to – he felt like shit. His mouth was dry and foul tasting his tongue feeling swollen to twice it's usual size and coated in something unsavoury that he really didn't want to think to hard about. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat and his entire body felt heavy and clumsy. Instinctually wanting to vocalize his discomfort a groan escaped his lips, but he immediately regretted it when the sound sent a stab of pain through his head that made him turn to the side and bury his face in his mattress.

It was this action that made him finally wonder if this was all something more than a monumental hangover from a night out that he couldn't even remember. The smell that assailed his nostrils as he turned his face into the mattress was stale and musty. He realised then that instead of his relatively comfortable mattress at home whatever he was lying on was thin and hard and stank.

Opening his eyes he blinked in confusion when he couldn't see anything but black. Reaching up to his face he ran a shaking hand down over his features searching for a blindfold but finding nothing but his open eyes blinking against his palm, the feel of his eye lashes tickling against his skin.

Dutch's confusion was rapidly becoming worry as the befuddling mist that had enshrouded his brain began to lift and he found himself able to think more clearly. Reaching out blindly with his left hand his frown deepened when his knuckles were skinned and stung when his hand knocked against a hard wall of what felt like bricks. Pressing his hand flat against the brick wall he used it as purchase so he could drag himself into a sitting position while trying to ignore the dizzy, nauseous sensation that churned through his body as he did so.

Taking a moment to regain his equilibrium and swallow down the sick feeling in his stomach he paused before struggling to his feet still using the unfamiliar wall as support. Keeping one hand on the wall feeling its uneven surface bumping and scratching under his palm Dutch slowly circumnavigated the space he found himself in.

It wasn't until he stepped off what felt like a thin mattress onto the floor that he realised that his feet were bare. For some reason his shoes and socks had been removed and his toes curled in an automatic response to the feel of the cold, stone floor under his feet.

The room he was in measured about seventeen feet by ten feet. He'd been surprised and then relieved when his hand had found a metal door inset into the wall which he guessed was nearly opposite his "bed", at least any vague fears he was beginning to have about being walled up alive faded with the discovery of the door. Approximately five fruitless minutes of hammering on the heavy metal door and shouting for help past before Dutch gave up trying to communicate with the outside for the moment and he moved on past the doorway and onwards around the room.

It was against one of the shorter walls that he banged his shin against a toilet that flushed when he pressed down the handle on the cistern. The discovery of a wash basin with a cold water tap that worked next to it meant he didn't have to worry about drinking out of the toilet which was almost as much of a relief as finding the door had been. Cupping his hands under the running water Dutch gathered some water in them so that he could splash his face trying to clear his head before he sipped some cold water from his hands, enjoying for a moment the feel of it re-hydrating his parched mouth and throat.

Stumbling back to his mattress on the floor Dutch dropped down to sit on it feeling tired, but a little more aware then he had been previously. Mentally kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner he quickly patted himself down searching the pockets of his pants to see if he'd been left with anything useful. He'd been hoping for his cell phone but wasn't surprised when he came up empty handed. His pockets had been emptied, his jacket taken and as his cold feet could testify his shoes and socks were gone to. Whoever had placed him in this room had been thorough, Dutch felt like a prisoner in a cell. With a humourless snort he realised that that was exactly what he was.

Leaning back against the cold brick wall Dutch leaned his head back and closing his eyes against the darkness he tried to marshal his memories into a coherent narrative so that he could piece together some clues as to what had happened to him, and maybe why it had happened.

He'd left work later then he'd intended, although not as late as he could've been had Claudette not insisted he leave and wouldn't let him stay and help her with the paperwork for the Widor case. He had a long weekend vacation and had arranged weeks before to spend it down at Huntington Beach with Alan and Rosie Makin who were old friends. Friends from the days when he'd still been married to Lucy, in fact they'd originally been Lucy's friends since she had gone to college with Rosie and it had been Lucy who'd introduced him to the couple after he and Lucy had been going out with each other for several months. After his marriage to Lucy had disintegrated in such a spectacular and humiliating fashion he'd found that all their mutual friends had picked sides, he supposed it was the natural thing to happen with a divorce. Alan and Rosie had sided with him, upset and disgusted by Lucy's behaviour and offering him a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on when everything had first come out regarding Lucy's infidelity and subsequent pregnancy. He'd remained firm friends with the couple ever since and tried to get down to Huntington Beach a couple of times a year to catch up and relax. Alan had called him about three weeks previously and asked him to come down to stay since he and Rosie were going to be celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary with a party at their beach house. So, Dutch thought to himself not knowing how long he'd been unconscious, even if he wasn't missed back in Los Angeles for three or four days at least Alan and Rosie would wonder what had happened when he didn't show up at their place that evening and would raise the alarm. The thought that he would be missed and that a search was probably already in motion comforted him a little.

He thought back over the circumstances that had directly led to him being in the predicament he now found himself in. He'd been on his way to Adam and Rosie's and the night had been dark and cool. Instead of taking the freeway, which he knew would be crowded on a Friday night; Dutch had taken the much quieter back roads down the coast towards Huntington Beach. He could remember telling Alan about his route plan on the phone the last time they'd talked and he knew they were expecting him at around ten thirty that same night. He knew from previous visits that they'd have been waiting up for him, waiting for him to arrive. He briefly wondered how many hours overdue he'd been before they'd raised the alarm?

Making himself focus on the present he could remember driving along the quiet road when he spotted an SUV by the side of the road. A woman had been standing by it waving her arms at him to stop. As he slowed down and approached the parked car he had seen a sticker in the back window that read "baby on board" and thought he'd seen a glimpse of a baby seat in the back of the car. He'd been reeled in like a fish and had fallen for it hook, line and sinker he realised with a humourless smile. If it had been a guy by the side of the road trying to flag him down although he would have felt duty bound to stop and see if he could help he certainly would've been more careful. Yeah, he thought ruefully to himself, maybe you'd have taken your gun out of the damn glove box you idiot.

To late for regrets now he realised and turned his thoughts back to what had happened after he'd fallen for the damsel in distress routine. He remembered pulling his car in to park in front of the SUV and he'd gotten out as the woman trotted up to him all smiles and stammered out thanks for him stopping to help her. She'd told him she had a flat tyre on the back passenger side and when he'd volunteered to take a look she assured him it was completely flat and asked if he had a jack. He could remember the feel of her hand on his arm as she'd stopped him form walking around the car. He also remembered the way she'd beamed up at him looking at him from between long, dark eyelashes and he'd made the same mistake that guys throughout history had made and let himself start thinking with his dick instead of his brain.

Smiling back at her he'd assured her that he had a jack and that it would be no trouble for him to change her tyre for her, while all the time wondering if she was married and if he could get her phone number. It was when he walked around to the rear of his car and opened the trunk to reach inside, pushing aside his weekend bag, that he'd heard the squeal of tyres on the road and looking up had been blinded by the glare of headlights from a rapidly approaching car. Looking back on it now he guessed the other car had been parked up just waiting for some kind of signal from the woman and then the men inside it switched on it's lights and made their move.

He'd immediately realised that something was wrong, but it was too late. Turning he'd seen the glint of metal flashing from the gun which was suddenly in the woman's hand. He supposed she'd been concealing it in the small of her back and had pulled it as soon as his back was turned and she'd known that her back up was about to arrive. He'd reacted instinctively and had lunged forward using his greater height and weight to throw her off balance and knock the gun from her hand and her onto her ass in the dirt. Thinking about it now he supposed that they'd wanted him alive because that had been a really dumb thing to do and it was a wonder he wasn't lying by the side of the road with a bullet hole in his head.

At the time though he'd just thanked his lucky stars that he'd gotten in a lucky shot that had taken her by surprise and had made a break for his open driver's door and the glove box with his police issue weapon inside it.

As he'd raced towards the open door he could remember having flashes of clarity where he saw what was going on around him, but a lot was a blur mostly due to fear and the adrenaline in his system at the time he guessed. He'd seen the dark coloured sedan that was parked right across the front of his car effectively blocking him in and preventing him from escaping by car. He remembered that he'd very briefly thought about dodging to his right and trying to take his assailants by surprise by making a break for it through the grove of small trees who's dark shapes he could make out in the countryside beyond the road. He wondered if he should have taken that option? If he'd tried to make a run for it maybe he'd have been able to escape and would now be wandering around the Californian countryside lost, but safe.

At the time though his main thought had been to get to his gun so he'd dismissed the idea of running in a split second and had dived for the open driver's door of his car. Just as he'd gotten there he could remember being tackled from behind. A heavy body had slammed into him and he'd been propelled forward and had struck his head on the steering wheel of the car. Reaching up Dutch winced when he came into contact with the front right-hand side of his forehead and his fingers brushed over the scabbed over cut about half an inch long that he found there. The skin under his fingers felt bruised too and he realised it was no wonder his head felt like someone was inside and was merrily smashing a sledgehammer against the inside of his skull.

After that things got a little confused. He knew that he'd put up a fight, the various aches and pains he could feel over his body testified to that fact too. There'd been at least two male attackers and after being stunned by the blow to his head he knew he'd been subdued fairly quickly. One had held him from behind while the other had shoved a cloth over his nose and mouth. He could remember the sickly, cloying smell on the cloth and the panic that had welled up inside him and made him struggle until his head had begun to spin and he'd felt the strength leach out of his body. Chloroform he guessed or something like it must have been on the cloth. He'd obviously passed out only to wake up here alone in the dark. Dutch shivered and reaching up wiped a hand down over his face, careful to avoid the throbbing cut on his forehead.

Blowing out a steadying breath his attention turned to the other questions that were whirling around in his brain. Where the hell was he? Why the hell had he been kidnapped? Who the hell would do this?

The first question as to where he was, was impossible to answer. Locked up as he was in his dark prison cell he could be anywhere. He'd have to either wait until someone came and he could ask them and hopefully they'd tell him, or he'd have to wait until he got out of this room to try and get some clues as to his location. The thought briefly flitted through Dutch's mind that maybe that would never happen. Maybe he was doomed to be locked up here alone in the dark for the rest of his life. That thought made his mouth go dry and his heart beat sound loudly in his ears and he had to fight down the terror that that vision gave him. Shaking his head he gathered himself refusing to give in to his fears, determined to be rational.

Forcing himself not to think about being abandoned in this room he tried to figure out why he was here. He knew immediately that his abduction hadn't been a random spur of the moment event, it had been too well planned for that. The whole set up with the lone woman with the broken down car by the side of the road. The second car that had been nearby waiting to spring the trap. The fact that his kidnappers had come equipped with chloroform and at least one gun all pointed to organisation and thorough planning. But why him? Was it random in that he wasn't the direct target and they'd just been waiting for the first lone motorist to come down that road and he'd just been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Somehow Dutch doubted it. He had a feeling deep down in his gut that they'd known exactly who they'd been waiting for. So once again why him? The only thing he could think of was that it was somehow connected with his work. After all it couldn't be kidnap for ransom. He certainly had no money and no family who had any money or who'd pay for his release he guessed. If his abductors were planning on ransoming him to the Police Department then surely they'd have picked a better target, someone more important. He might be a bloody good detective but he couldn't see the Department abandoning it's "no negotiations with kidnappers or terrorists" policy to save his ass. Instead they'd make noises about how tragic it was, how their hands were tied, and what a good officer he'd been. So it had to be related to a case, but which one?

Sure he'd broken some great cases – one serial killer, numerous murderers, rapists, the occasional drugs bust especially when he'd been back in uniform, but nothing that would warrant this kind of retribution. As far as he was aware that serial killer and those murderers and rapists were mostly still serving time up in Pelican Bay, and the drugs busts hadn't exactly been big enough to rock the Colombian drugs cartels. So if it wasn't for money or revenge then why? He immediately regretted that question as a whole host of unsavoury and down right stomach churning thoughts and images filled his mind. Being a cop certainly gave one a whole library of different scenarios to choose from. Once again Dutch had to forcibly stop himself from disintegrating into a panic stricken heap. He told himself it was no good speculating on what might happen he'd just have to find a way to handle events as they arose.

The thought tickled at the back of his mind as to how his attackers had known where to strike. How had they known where he'd be? He was pretty sure he hadn't been followed. Sure he hadn't been looking for a tail, but nothing unusual had stood out during his journey. However, he had to have been under some kind of surveillance. Dutch's mind filled with thoughts of being watched, studied. Maybe his phone being bugged so that the arrangements he'd made with Alan over the phone about his trip had been used against him. Every second this whole situation was becoming more sinister and more surreal to him.

As to the final question buzzing around his head – who? It was obvious that if he didn't know his kidnappers motivations then he didn't have a hope of guessing their identities.

A part of him hoped that whoever was holding him prisoner would make themselves known to him soon so that he could get some answers. While another part of him was afraid to learn what those answers would be.


	5. Adam Chapter 3

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 3

Claudette and Josh had no sooner gotten back to The Barn from the coroner's office than Claudette was summoned to Aceveda's office. As she walked towards his first floor office she passed Shane Vendrell hanging about outside one of the interrogation rooms. Claudette frowned at the way he paled slightly when he saw her and turned away. Turning the strange reaction over in her mind she was determined to get to the bottom of it later. Firstly, she had to see what the Captain wanted. She hoped it wasn't going to be some not-so-subtle pestering concerning the strangler case her and Josh were working at the moment. The latest victim of whom they'd just seen in the morgue. She really didn't want to hear how the Mayor was taking a personal interest, or how the Chief wanted an update. Bracing herself for the possibility of politics getting in the way of her job Claudette rapped on the door and stepped inside at Aceveda's called out,

"Come in!"

Hovering just in front of the closed door Claudette asked,

"You wanted to see me?"

Aceveda stood and indicated the chair in front of his desk.

"Sit down Claudette."

Claudette was immediately on her guard. Aceveda seemed on edge, the tight smile he flashed her not reaching his eyes. Intrigued, but wary Claudette came forward and sat down. Her eyes swept quickly over the top of Aceveda's desk looking for a visual clue to her summons and his uneasy body language. Her gaze rested on a pale blue folder and the photo that sat on top of it, and she found what she'd been looking for.

Her eyes immediately flicked back up to the Captain's face and the expression there confirmed her hopes, or maybe it was her fears.

Not knowing what had happened to Dutch haunted Claudette and she had never given up looking for him. True she no longer put in sixteen or eighteen hours days at The Barn, but that was only because Aceveda had threatened to suspend her until she was cleared by the Department shrink if she didn't stop "obsessing", as he'd put it. It hadn't stopped her searching for him in her own time though. She knew the location, sex, and where possible, identity of every dumped body found in Los Angles and the surrounding area for the past year. She spent hours going over witness statements that she'd already read a hundred times just in case there was something buried in them that might be the break-through they needed. She pestered the Feds, who'd been called in to head up the investigation into Dutch's disappearance, so much that they knew it was her on the phone before she'd barely gotten out a syllable.

Not knowing drove her crazy. It lead to nightmares that left her kneeling on the floor of her bathroom throwing up, while trying to banish the hideous images her subconscious had conjured up to torture her with. It led to sleepless nights when thoughts of what might have happened left her unable to sleep in the first place. However, not knowing also left a tiny space in her heart for hope. Hope that he was still alive somewhere, hope that one day he'd just walk back into The Barn, hope that wherever he was that he was okay. While she had that little sliver of hope to cling on to Claudette could get up in the morning and carry on. While she had that little sliver of hope she could stop the guilt she felt, for sending him off that night when he'd offered to stay behind to help her with the paperwork, from eating her alive. Now Aceveda's next words could snuff that tiny, struggling flame of hope out forever, and she felt afraid.

"We think he's alive Claudette."

The sound that left her lips at the Captain's words was a very undignified sounding little grunt, but at that moment Claudette felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. The breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding since she'd first seen Dutch's photo on Aceveda's desk rushed out of her, and she folded forward in her seat. Concerned Aceveda leant forward,

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Her mouth dry Claudette had to take a deep breath before looking back up at Aceveda's concerned face,

"He's been found? Is he alright?" Her voice sounded unsteady, but she didn't care.

"Vic and Shane brought in a drug dealer who claims to have seen him two weeks ago. He said he'd seen a Farmington cop who'd been missing and he picked Dutch's picture out and insists it was him."

"Thank God." Claudette whispered closing her eyes. Her emotions whirled around inside her brain as relief flooded through her. She started, and looked up as she felt a hand close gently on her shoulder, Aceveda stood next to her and giving her shoulder one final squeeze said,

"I'll get you some water, it's been a shock."

It was only when he left the room that Claudette realised that her face was wet and that Aceveda had left to give her some time to gather herself for which she was grateful. Reaching up she wiped her tears of relief away with the palms of her hands and tried to reign in her emotions.

The moment that she'd wished for, now that it was here, hardly seemed real to her. It had been just over a year… Who was she kidding, she knew exactly how long it had been – twelve months, three weeks, four days, and eleven hours – since her phone had woken her up and she'd heard Aceveda's voice telling her that Dutch's car had been found abandoned by the side of the road down in Orange County.

Dutch had had a long weekend off and had planned to visit some friends who lived in Huntington Beach. Claudette knew he'd been looking forward to it, and so when he'd looked guilty at leaving her with the paperwork at the end of the shift and had volunteered to put off his journey for a couple of hours to help her, she'd refused and insisted he left. Jesus, how she'd regretted that decision, always wondering if she'd taken him up on his offer if he wouldn't then have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he'd set out a few hours later than he'd planned maybe he would've finished his journey safely.

That night she'd rushed into The Barn to find Aceveda waiting for her. Apparently an abandoned car had been reported to the Highway Patrol who'd sent a unit to investigate. They'd found Dutch's car by the side of the road, trunk open, driver's door wide-open, keys in the ignition, and his gun, wallet, and badge all still in the glove compartment, but no sign of Dutch.

The next day forensics had discovered blood on the steering wheel, and on the ground by the driver's side. Scuffmarks in the dirt around the car that indicated a struggle had taken place and tread marks that proved two other cars had been present. The evidence of abduction was clear and the FBI had been called in. The eventual theory was that a car had been parked by the side of the road and for some reason Dutch had stopped, pulling in front of it. It was surmised that he was flagged down, and thinking someone was in trouble had stopped to help. The Feds guessed that whoever had flagged him down claimed to have a flat tyre and this was why Dutch had popped his trunk, to get to his jack. At some point a second car arrived, pulling in front of Dutch's car to prevent him from leaving. Dutch realising that something wasn't right had tried to get to his gun in the glove compartment, but had been stopped by at least two assailants. The blood found matched his indicating he hadn't gone without a fight.

Then he had simply disappeared into thin air.

Claudette knew that most people, hell everyone, had thought Dutch was dead. The search for him had turned up nothing but dead ends. After two months the FBI had cut down the team looking for him, pulling away agents for other cases. The clue trail had gone cold, no motive could be found, and Dutch had been filed away as another statistic.

Claudette hadn't given up on him though, just as she'd known that he wouldn't have given up on her if their positions had been reversed. After the Feds had left for Wiltshire Boulevard she'd carried on trying to find a clue, a witness, a reason. Until Aceveda had stepped in and threatened her with a psyche review. It hadn't stopped her digging though, although she thought with a pang of guilt maybe lately she hadn't been devoting quite as much time to it as she used to do.

Three months ago she'd finally relented and allowed Aceveda to assign her a new partner. Josh Yendall was a good kid, a little wet behind the ears still but he had good instincts. Claudette liked him, and she realised that more of her attention had been focused on him and their cases than on Dutch's disappearance lately. Claudette felt slightly sick when she realised that maybe she'd been in the process of giving up on Dutch too, just like everyone else had. She'd been losing that hope that she'd clung on to. It was only now that she knew he could really be alive that she recognised the way she'd been slowly letting him go. Assigning him to a nameless grave somewhere just like everyone else. However, she wasn't "everyone else", she was his partner and she'd be damned if she was going to fail him again. Hearing the door open behind her and turning to see Aceveda entering with a woman she recognised as Assistant District Attorney Ruth Cully, Claudette prepared herself to fight to get here partner back.


	6. Adam Second Interlude

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Second Interlude

As he was dragged down the cellar steps every bit of strength that Adam had left in his body, every bit of strength that wasn't paralyzed by terror was spent trying to stop the descent. He leaned back trying to pull his arms out of the iron grasp of Taylor's hired muscle. If felt as if his shoulder joints would be pulled out of their sockets, the grip the men had on his upper arms digging painfully into his flesh. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't escape though and he was dragged inevitably further down the cellar steps his bare feet thumping against the wooden stairs as his legs lost their ability to keep him upright.

There was a bend in the staircase and as they turned through it and began to descend the last dozen or so steps into the cellar he could finally see it. Red brick walls and a strong metal door – a room within a room. His cell, his torture, his nightmare. The place that had nearly driven him insane.

Adam knew instinctively that he'd never been so terrified in his entire life. Fear raw and nauseating in every cell of his body. His mouth dry, his legs unable to hold him up felt like water, his heart beating so hard it felt as if it would explode in his chest. His mind was a buzz of panicked, disjointed thoughts making no sense whizzing around in his brain. He could feel the tears that ran down his cheeks, hear the sobs that racked his body, but he was too far gone, too swallowed up in the horror he felt to care.

In front of the cold, hard metal door the two men who were literally holding him up at this point both let him go at some signal Adam didn't hear or see. He dropped straight down to his knees onto the hard flagstone floor, the impact hurting his knees and the jolt of the impact going straight up through his body. Up through his thighs and hips, through his torso and on upward making his head jerk backwards and his jaw clench painfully. He fell forward and instinctively threw out his hands to save himself from falling face first onto the floor. Bent forwards; holding his upper body up with arms that felt numb after the merciless grips that had been wrapped around them earlier. Adam didn't move trying to calm down, desperately trying to figure out a way out of the situation he found himself in. A way he could appease Taylor, get Taylor to forgive him.

As he managed to push down his loud sobs to mere tearful hiccups two feet came to rest in his eye line. Someone was standing right in front of him and instantly recognizing the hand made Italian leather shoes Adam knew it was Taylor. Taking a shuddering deep breath Adam slowly pulled himself back up into a kneeling position and turned his gaze upward to look at Taylor's face.

Taylor looked down at him, his eyes cold, and his face an impenetrable mask. Adam felt uncertainty spread throughout him, as was so often the case with Taylor one couldn't tell what he was thinking by looking at him, the perfect poker face. He didn't look angry, but then again he didn't look pleased either. Adam wondered if maybe he still had a chance to redeem himself, a chance to be forgiven. Reaching up Adam scrubbed a hand down over his face drying his still wet cheeks. He quickly wiped a sleeve across his nose cleaning away the snot from his upper lip. An idea flared in Adam's mind, a way he might be able to appease Taylor, a way he might be able to get Taylor to forgive him and to take him back to his rooms instead of leaving him in this awful place.

Trying to swallow his fear down past the huge lump that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his throat Adam attempted a smile. Forcing his lips to curve upwards in faltering increments he knew it wasn't very convincing but it was the best he could do. Making sure he kept eye contact with Taylor, Adam reached out with shaking hands and fumbled at the belt and zipper of Taylor's pants. He swiped his tongue out over his dry lips and tried his best to look alluring, while all the time knowing deep down inside that he was failing miserably and was merely looking pathetic and desperate.

Taylor obviously thought so too because the expressionless mask on his face suddenly melted into a sneer and kicking out with his expensive Italian shoes he caught Adam on his lower chest and caused him to fall backward onto the floor. Shaking his head he said,

"Don't think you can wriggle your way out of this one Adam. As tempting as your mouth is you need to be punished."

Clicking his fingers and making an impatient gesture towards Adam with his hand Taylor signaled for his two goons to haul Adam to his feet.

When Adam was upright and facing him Taylor stepped in closer, but was careful not to touch Adam. Leaning in a fraction more he all but whispered in Adam's ear, his voice as cold as ice,

"All I've done for you. The best clothes, the best food, the best wine…you live in a house that other's would kill for, and this is how you repay me. Trying to run away from all that…trying to run away from me. What you need is some time on your own to realise that you should be grateful to me for everything I've done for you. Some time to realise that your place is here with me. You seem to have forgotten the first lesson Adam…I can lift you up out of the darkness, but I can also cast you back down into the night."

Stepping away Taylor turned and opened the metal door set into the wall of the red brick room.

Adam looked past Taylor through the doorway. The light from the cellar only penetrated a few feet past the open door and then it was swallowed up in the blackness that he could feel waiting to swallow him up too. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped his lips as he was dragged forward towards the doorway. Panicked words spilling from his mouth,

"Please…p…pleased Taylor no…I'm sorry I'll never do it again I swear. Don't put me in there…I'm grateful…I'll be good…"

He was still begging when he was thrust forward into the darkness and the metal door was slammed shut behind him.

Whirling around Adam rushed at the now closed door and smashed his fists against it as hard as he could sobbing,

"Please…please…please. Let me out Taylor I'm sorry…please…"

Crying he leaned up against the cold metal of the door his face turned to the side trying to listen for any noise from beyond the closed door. He'd spent hours doing this when he had been locked in this terrible place before. Hours spent straining trying to hear some sound other then his own voice or the beating of his heart. Just like then only silence met his attempts and perversely it sounded louder in his ears then any noise he'd ever heard, vibrating through his body leaving him feeling hollowed out and empty.

Turning slowly Adam kept his back to the closed door pressing back against it as if he thought that if he pressed hard enough and wished for it hard enough he'd be able to melt straight through it back out into the light.

Around him the oppressive darkness closed in on him from all sides. He could feel himself choking on it. He was so completely caught up in the horror he was feeling that he didn't even notice the warm wetness that spread over his crotch as in his fear he lost control of his bladder. With an inarticulate cry of pure terror and despair Adam ran with his hands held out in front of himself towards his corner. The place he'd sought refuge in before when he had felt the blackness strangling him, invading him, whispering to him out of the dark.

Wedging himself into the corner as far as he could go Adam curled in on himself and wrapped his arms over his head. In an instinctive attempt at comfort he began to slowly rock backwards and forwards. Closing his eyes tightly he tried very hard not to let himself fly apart.


	7. Adam Chapter 4

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 4

Adam sat in the middle of the hospital bed, on top of the covers, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, his eyes watching the door. His was dressed in blue hospital scrubs his own clothes having been bagged and taken away at the first hospital, the one he'd been examined at, the memories of the examination making him shudder. Then, just when he'd thought he was being taken home, he'd been bundled into the back of a car and driven to Los Angeles and brought to this hospital. Feeling agitated, but trying to hide it Adam hugged his legs harder and worried his lower lip with his teeth. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm down, he didn't want to be stuck with a needle and drugged again like he had been at the first hospital when he'd fought against the examination. The drugs had left him feeling woozy and sick. Focusing on the door he waited for Taylor to arrive and take him home, cause this was all a test, one of Taylor's tests and he wasn't going to fail this one. He'd be good and would wait until Taylor came for him.

He didn't really want to, but Adam couldn't stop himself from remembering the first time Taylor had tested him.

He lay in the bed on his side, his knees tucked up to his chest and tried to keep his expression neutral, tried not to let Taylor see the relief on his face because he knew that would piss Taylor off, Taylor liked him to smile. Watching Taylor get dressed Adam could feel his heart beginning to slow in his chest, the tightness in his muscles beginning to fade. Taylor's mouth had only just covered his, the wet slick tongue had only just forced its way into his mouth, and Taylor's hand had only just reached down between Adam's legs before the tentative knock on the bedroom door. Taylor was annoyed at being disturbed, but apparently it was really important and couldn't wait, so he was having to leave and Adam tried to keep the relief from his face.

He must have been successful because when Taylor turned towards him Adam didn't see his expression darken any more than it already was, and Taylor would become furious if he thought Adam was being anything other than grateful for his attentions, or wasn't enjoying what was being done to him. Just to be sure Adam sat up on the bed and smiled up at Taylor as he approached. There were days when his face ached from smiling so much.

"Don't move, I won't be long." Taylor instructed him with a thin smile.

Reaching down Taylor grabbed the hair at the back of his head pulling his head slightly back and to the right. The pain made Adam gasp and as his mouth opened Taylor leant down and claimed it. A sharp nip to Adam's lower lip as he pulled away and straightened up left a coppery tang on Adam's lips and a small trail of warm blood trickling from the broken skin down his chin. Taylor smirked down at him and then walked out of the room.

Adam flicked his tongue out over his lip and winced a little at the sting he felt. Reaching up he wiped at the blood on his chin and stared down at the smudge of red it left across his fingers. He knew Taylor had told him to stay put, but Adam knew there was still half a glass of wine on the table in the other room, he hadn't had time to finish it before Taylor had ordered him to the bedroom. He could drink it down now and maybe it would help a little, make things a little blurred when Taylor came back. Adam liked his world to be a little blurred most of the time.

Slipping off the large bed Adam felt his toes sink into the thick pile of the cream carpet and pausing only to reach down and pull on the boxers he'd discarded when Taylor had told him to strip Adam walked into the next room. However, before he made it to the table his eyes settled on the door that led from his suite of rooms to the rest of the house, it was open. Not open all the way, but it was as if in his hurry Taylor hadn't pulled it shut properly.

Adam froze for a moment staring at the door. He was torn, part of him wanted to turn away and scurry back to the bed, curl up there and wait for Taylor to come back. Wait for Taylor to touch him, pinching and pulling, wait for Taylor to kiss him, biting and licking, wait for Taylor to take him, merciless and hurting. Wait for Taylor to prove he was still alive, that he hadn't been swallowed up by the darkness. Yet something else stirred in his head, someone else. The one that he'd pushed away in the dark. The one that he heard screaming in his mind sometimes when Taylor was pushing himself inside. The one that he tried so hard to ignore, to deny, so that Taylor wouldn't cast him away down into the darkness again. That other voice in his head whispered about escape, about an old life, about being free.

Adam found himself by the door and hesitantly pulled it open a crack just so he could look out. The corridor was deserted, but he didn't know how long that would last, how long it would be before Taylor returned. Running to his room he quickly pulled on his pants and sweater. His heart was hammering in his chest, his mouth dry from a mixture of fear and excitement.

Back at the door Adam cautiously pulled it open and stepped out into the quiet corridor. He'd only been allowed out of his room a couple of times, but he knew the stairs to the ground floor were down the corridor and to the left. Running quickly he pressed himself back against the wall and peaked around the corner when he reached the end of the corridor. He was in luck there was no one present and he ran down the stairs as fast as he could, while also trying to be as quiet as he could. The large wooden front door was locked, but he knew there were large French windows that led out into the grounds in a room that Taylor used as a study. Adam had been there a few weeks previously, some fantasy Taylor had wanted to satisfy about taking him bent over his desk.

Once he reached the study door Adam paused, Taylor could be in there right now. Pressing his ear up against the door Adam held his breath as he strained to listen for any sounds coming from the room. He cursed silently at the roar of blood in his ears and the thud of his heartbeat that he was sure was so loud it could be heard fifty feet away. Hearing nothing it took every ounce of courage Adam had left to reach out and open that door. Relief flooded through him, making his knees wobble a little when he found the room empty.

Crossing to the open French windows Adam looked out across the immaculately kept lawn towards a grove of trees and perhaps even the glimpse of a grey stone wall that lay beyond. Over that wall lay an end to his nightmare, over that wall lay an end to Adam, over that wall lay the other person, the person he should be.

Seeing and hearing no one in the garden Adam stepped out into the sunlight. He hadn't been out of the house for a long time and couldn't resist hesitating for a moment to close his eyes and face the sun. To feel the warmth of it on his skin, the fresh breeze brushing by him, the smells of flowers and freshly cut grass in the air. All these things whispered "freedom" inside his mind and without waiting any longer he took his first tentative steps out of the house. The sharp gravel of the pathway that ran next to the house cut into the bottoms of his unprotected feet, but Adam didn't care ignoring their bite. Five steps and he felt the short, soft grass under his feet, between his toes, cooling, soothing.

"I thought I told you not to move Adam?"

The familiar, cold voice came from his left and Adam froze. His blood feeling like liquid nitrogen in his veins, his guts turning to ice. A whimper rose up in his throat and he had to clench his teeth tightly together to stop it escaping from his mouth.

Turning he saw Taylor standing by the side of the house flanked by two of his big thugs. For the first time in his life Adam truly understood the phrase "like a deer caught in the headlights", because that was exactly how he felt. Everything in him, every instinct was screaming at him to run. He could feel the adrenaline flooding his bloodstream, encouraging the instinctive fight or flight response. His mouth went dry; his heart was hammering in his chest, the muscles in his thighs twitched wanting to move, to flee. He didn't move. Taylor's eyes locked with his and Adam felt his brain shut down in panic and fear. He was primed to run, but his brain refused to give the commands to his nerves, to his muscles, so he stood as still as a statue.

Taylor smiled, and slowly began walking towards him and still Adam couldn't move.

"Tut, tut, Adam." Taylor said softly as he approached him shaking his head. "I'm disappointed in you…really disappointed. You failed my little test. I wanted to see what you'd do…if you were loyal, and look what you've done…you've betrayed me."

Taylor was standing right in front of him and Adam flinched back as Taylor reached out his right hand. He expected a blow but what Taylor did was some how worse, more painful. Seeing Adam's reaction Taylor paused for a second before finishing his gesture, reaching out and stroking his fingers down the side of Adam's face. Down his cheek, along his jaw, one finger stroking it's way along his lower lip,

"Please…" Adam heard himself whimper unable to keep silent any longer.

Taylor stopped moving and leant forward whispering in his ear,

"Sshh."

As Taylor pulled back Adam shivered as he felt Taylor's breath ghosting across his cheek like a caress. Taylor's fingers continued moving until he suddenly grabbed Adam's chin in a bruising grip.

"Now I'm going to have to punish you."

Taylor suddenly released him and stepped back snapping his fingers to signal his two goons to move in. Each grabbed one of Adam's arms and began to drag him back towards the French windows.

Adam wanted to fight, to struggle, to escape, but he felt all the strength drain out of him as pure terror took over. They had moved past Taylor, but he was following them into the house and Adam tried to twist around to look at him.

"Please, please no, Taylor…I'm sorry, I'm sorry…please. I'll be good I promise…" Adam begged.

As he was dragged past the stairs which led back up towards his suite of rooms and towards the doorway to the cellar his terror increased, and he finally began to struggle in earnest, but it wasn't enough. The grip on his upper arms increased, the thick, stubby fingers feeling as if they were burrowing through his flesh down to the bone.

"No…no Taylor please, please…I'm sorry…not that please…" Adam babbled as tears began to flow down his cheeks, but he was so far gone in his fear that he didn't even notice and was far past caring about little things like dignity or stoicism. Adam knew what waited for him beyond the cellar door, and he would do anything not to have to go down there. "I won't do it again…I was stupid…please forgive me. Taylor I'll do anything you want me to…anything…please."

They paused at the cellar door, and for one moment Adam thought that perhaps Taylor was going to show mercy, was going to spare him but he should've known better.

Taylor moved to stand in front of Adam and slowly unlocked the cellar door.

The involuntary whimper that escaped Adam's lips when he remembered what happened next broke through the memory and he felt a wave of relief rush through him as he found himself not at the cellar door but curled up on a bed in the middle of a brightly lit hospital room. Feeling the heat of unshed tears pricking at the back of his eyes Adam squeezed his eyes shut and began to whisper over and over,

"I'll be good. I'll be good. I'll be good…"


	8. Adam Chapter 5

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 5

Waiting – Claudette had had enough of waiting to last her a lifetime. The hours that had bled into days after Dutch had first disappeared. Sure that some clue, some hitherto unknown witness would lead them to him. Only to be bitterly disappointed time and time again when the clues led to dead-ends and the witnesses weren't forthcoming. When she thought back to those days now they were almost a blur to her. One long cycle of dashed hopes and forced optimism, of missed meals and sleepless nights.

Then the FBI had taken firm control of the case and the Farmington detectives, Dutch's friends and colleagues, who'd been leading the investigation had been re-assigned to more mundane matters within the precinct. She'd been so angry with Aceveda accusing him on giving up on Dutch when deep down inside she'd known that he'd had no choice that Farmington had to be policed. However, she had needed an outlet, somewhere, someone, to channel her anger, frustration and fear into, and at that moment he had been it. Looking back on that time she always appreciated the fact that he'd seemed to understand her need and had allowed her vent her spleen on him without a word of reprimand or reproach. He'd also agreed to her demand that she should remain on the case.

After a couple of weeks though he'd called her back to his office and told that she was to go back into the detective's rotation. Her argument had died on her lips when he'd told her in a quiet voice that the eighteen hour days she was putting in were going to end up leaving her burnt out or dead, and he'd asked her if she thought that was what Dutch would want. So she'd gone back to waiting. This time waiting for the FBI team that had taken over the viewing room and one of the interrogation rooms to come up with something. Although she'd worked on the periphery in her own time and had pestered the Feds non-stop she still hadn't been at the heart of things, stuck on the outside looking in and waiting for someone else to break the case wide open.

When the FBI had pulled all the agents but two from the case after two fruitless months she'd felt her heart sink, and had waited then for the other agents to be ordered onto another case and for Dutch to be filed away. She hadn't had long to wait. Another month and Special Agents Judy Gardner and Darrell Lehman had shaken her hand and told her how sorry they were, and that although they'd been assigned another case that they would ensure Dutch's case stayed active.

After that if Claudette was honest with herself she knew she'd been waiting for a body to turn up. Waiting for a shallow grave to be found, a body to wash up on a beach, dismembered parts disposed of in trash bags to make a human jigsaw out of her friend and partner.

For just over a year she'd waited. A year of guilt and sleepless nights that seemed to last for an eternity as all the years of experience she had as a cop had betrayed her. Instead of providing her with answers they had conjured up images of all the things that Dutch might have gone through, what he might have suffered. When you had spent years witnessing the worst that people could do to each other the stuff of nightmares was never hard to come by.

Yet everything she'd gone through during that last year was nothing compared to the agony of waiting she'd endured for these past few days. First, having to wait while the Assistant District Attorney Cully interviewed Juan Martinez and then after she came out of the interview room convinced he was genuine, wait while she convinced her boss the District Attorney. If Claudette had thought that securing the District Attorney's approval for a deal for Martinez would get things moving quickly she was mistaken. The FBI had had to be informed, then the ATF, who had apparently had Fitzgerald under surveillance, had had to be notified. There were meetings and deals; politics being played out with everyone trying to ensure their agency would get a piece of Fitzgerald while Dutch had to endure God knows what at the hands of that animal. It seemed that Taylor Fitzgerald was a busy man with _business _ties to drug-running, arms trafficking, people-trafficking, prostitution…the list was endless wherever there were activities that added to human misery Fitzgerald was mixed up in it somewhere. However, Claudette found she didn't care about any of that, all she cared about was getting her friend and partner back.

Two days had passed before everyone finally came to realise that someone's life was in the balance while they argued and procrastinated. Two days that Dutch had to spend a prisoner. Two days that dragged past so slowly for Claudette that she nearly went insane. Then finally a joint FBI, ATF operation was approved and the heavily fortified residence of Taylor Fitzgerald on the outskirts of San Francisco was stormed.

Claudette had wanted to be there, she'd wanted to see Dutch, confirm it really was him that he really was still alive, as soon as possible, but her request had been turned down. Special Agents Gardner and Lehman who's names were still on the FBI case file had come to The Barn to reassure her that the operation was well planned and that when he was rescued Dutch would be brought straight back to Los Angeles.

Then she'd had to endure agonies of watching the clock knowing when the operation was due to begin and wondering how everything was going. She'd sat in the captain's office with Aceveda, Gardner and Lehman watching the clock, waiting for the phone to ring. The operation had been very hush-hush with none of the agencies involved wanting Fitzgerald to be tipped off to the imminent raid. But Claudette's nervous behaviour of the past days and the presence of the Special Agents who'd been assigned Dutch's case had sparked lots of interesting. Claudette knew the rumour mill in the Barn was in full operation. Despite the fact that the blinds had been drawn in Aceveda's office she'd felt the weight of curious stares from the precinct below which were being directed upwards towards the closed off office.

The underlying terror that she'd had to repress during those long hours waiting for a call from San Francisco with the very real possibility that this whole thing would prove to be a bust was torture. That the poor soul being kept by Fitzgerald wouldn't be Dutch at all but some other innocent caught in his web. She'd felt torn, one part of her almost wishing that it wouldn't be Dutch, that he hadn't had to suffer at the hands of this pervert for a whole year. While another part of her prayed that it would be Dutch because at least then the waiting would all be over. They'd have an answer as to what had happened to him, but what about the resultant fallout from what he'd been through? Well they'd find a way to work through it. Some way to heal him and bring him home.

When the phone had finally rung Claudette had jumped in her seat and had had to clasp her hands together to try and disguise the fact that they were shaking. The rush of so much tension out of her body when Aceveda had turned to her and said,

"It's confirmed it's him. He's alive Claudette."

Had momentarily left her feeling light-headed.

As she stared out at the cars and people and buildings that she was passing by on her way to the hospital she found it difficult to grasp that after all those days and weeks and months that the waiting was soon going to be over. She couldn't prevent a little sigh from escaping her as a new fear began to take root in her heart – what kind of person was she going to find when she walked into that hospital room?

Aceveda heard the small exhale and threw her a worried glance before re-focusing on his driving,

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah…yeah I'm fine." Claudette replied the small smile on her lips not quite making it to her eyes.


	9. Adam Chapter 6

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 6

Adam had finally moved from sitting on the hospital bed chased away from it by a combination of boredom and a numb backside. He had walked across the floor towards the window the cold tiled floor making his toes curl in an instinctual desire to escape the chill. But he preferred having cold bare feet to wearing the dumb white paper slippers he'd been given which would probably do little to keep out the cold as well as looking ridiculous.

Reaching out he slipped his fingers in between the white, horizontal, metal slats of the window blinds bending them downwards the metal making little cracking noises as it was bent out of shape. Leaning forward he peered through the gap he'd created. He guessed he was about three stories up with a clear blue sky above him and a rather uninspiring car park below him. He wanted to press his forehead against the glass that felt cool against his fingertips. The hospital room was too warm and he was feeling stifled by it. However, the metal slats of the blinds got in his way and pressed uncomfortably into his skin when he pressed against them trying to see as much of the car park below him as he could. He studied all the cars, all the people walking through the car park either heading towards their cars or towards the hospital building. His eyes flitted from one person to the next as he anxiously tried to spot the one person he wanted to see. As hard as he looked though each man his gaze rested on was wrong, either too tall or too short, to fat or too thin, blond not dark, black not white… Not matter how hard he wished to he couldn't see the Taylor. Couldn't see Taylor's calm, confident stride as he came to fetch him, as he came to take back what belonged to him. Adam felt a spike of fear stab at his heart as he wondered where Taylor was and why he hadn't come for him yet. As if in answer to his prayers he heard the sound of the door being unlocked and clicking open and automatically schooling his face into a wide smile, just as Taylor liked him to do, Adam turned away from the window letting the blinds metal slats all snap back into place.

Claudette had paced around the waiting room feeling her anxiety and impatience growing incrementally with each passing minute. Captain Aceveda and the FBI special agents who'd escorted Dutch to Los Angeles from San Francisco all sat in the green plastic chairs trying not to watch her and instead gazing at the floor or the walls, anywhere but at her. Being so close to seeing Dutch with her own eyes after all the heart ache and pain she'd gone through over the past year only to be told she'd have to wait even longer was driving her nuts.

The two FBI special Agents from San Francisco weren't much help either. She'd plied them with questions when they'd first introduced themselves asking how Dutch was, if he was hurt, wanting to ask them if Dutch had asked after her, but feeling too embarrassed to vocalize that question. Her anxiety levels had gone up a notch at the glance the agents exchanged with each other at her questions and their defensive answers not really telling her anything. Although when they let it slip that Dutch had had to been sedated at the first hospital he'd been taken to in San Francisco she had felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Of course she hadn't been naïve enough to think that Dutch would return unscathed by the past year. She'd been a cop for too many years and had seen too many awful things perpetrated by people on their fellow human being not to be afraid of what he might have suffered and how it might have changed him. However, deep down inside she'd haboured a little glimmer of hope, or maybe it was desperation, that Dutch would somehow have found the strength to come through his ordeal unchanged. That maybe this Taylor Fitzgerald hadn't been the usual psychopathic sexual predator. Claudette wiped her hands down her face and mentally chastised herself for that last thought. Hope was one thing but delusion was quite another and wasn't going to help her or Dutch get through the aftermath of what had happened. This Fitzgerald had kidnapped Dutch, held him prisoner for over a year and if Vic and Shane's informant was to be believed, and there was no reason why he shouldn't be, Dutch had been kept as some kind of sex slave having to pander to that pervert's whims. Memories from past cases crowded unbidden into her mind providing scenarios of what might have happened to her friend and partner that usually only populated her nightmares.

She couldn't prevent herself from jumping when a hand touched her arm. Turning to her right she saw the concerned face of Captain Aceveda,

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Before Claudette could answer the door to the waiting room opened and someone stepped into the room.

Desperate for information and ready to pounce on anybody to get it Claudette quickly got to her feet. Before she could ask the new-comer about Dutch he anticipated her enquiry and said,

"I'm Doctor Kim and I'm the psychiatric department's chief of staff and I've been looking after Detective Wagenbach since he was transferred here from St. Luke's in San Francisco."

Unable to contain herself Claudette interrupted to ask,

"How is he? Can we see him?"

"Physically he seems to be in relatively good health considering, although he's slightly underweight and has some bruising on his body. A thorough examination carried out at St. Luke's while Detective Wagenbach was sedated did reveal some older scarring though, some of which was sexual in nature mainly in the area of the rectum and anus. Psychologically he's severely traumatized and from the information that was contained in his notes and from what the FBI has told us that's hardly surprising. He was uncooperative and quite combative at St. Luke's, but here he seems to have become rather subdued, retreating into himself almost."

Listening to what Doctor Kim was saying Claudette thought she'd prepared herself to hear this news, but she was wrong. No matter how prepare she'd thought she was it still felt as if the bottom had fallen out of her world. Swallowing down the gorge that rose in her throat she pushed away her own feelings and tried to concentrate solely on Dutch, and on what he'd need.

"Can we see him?" She repeated her earlier question.

Doctor Kim replied,

"As I said Detective Wagenbach has been subdued and in fact he has been refusing to interact with any of us, hopefully a familiar face will be what he needs to break through the walls he seems to have erected around himself. However, I was hoping for some family members to introduce him to as opposed to mere work colleagues."

The rage Claudette felt rapidly build up within her as she was so casually dismissed by the psychiatrist as a _"…mere work colleague…" _was burning hot inside her chest. Her first priority through all this was Dutch though, and so far she'd suppressed all the dark feelings of hatred and anger she felt towards the animal who'd thought he'd had the right to just take and use what he wanted with no regard for her partner and friend as a human being with feelings and rights of his own. She'd suppressed those feelings but they were still there and they struggled for an outlet. Doctor Kim didn't know how lucky he was that Claudette had enough control to be able to clench her jaw, take a deep breath and get herself under control before she unleashed just a fraction of that rage on him. Instead she steadied herself and replied in a cold voice,

"Dutch…Detective Wagenbach doesn't have any family, and I'm **not** a mere work colleague I'm his partner and I want to see him right now."

The doctor stared at her for a moment before taking a step back and to one side of the door and opening it he said,

"Of course. His room is on the third floor, I'll show you."

She followed the doctor as he walked along the white hospital corridor heading towards the elevator, a quick glance behind her confirming that Captain Aceveda was following her and that the FBI agents had thought it prudent to stay in the waiting room.

No one spoke until they reached the third floor which was the psychiatric unit of the hospital. Claudette blanched when she saw the locked metal grill door that separated the high-risk unit from the rest of the wing. The thought of Dutch once again locked up after what he'd been put through for the past year unsettling her more then she wanted to admit. Of course the thought that the doctors here considered Dutch to be high-risk worried her too, high-risk of what? Hurting others, hurting himself? As Doctor Kim reached out and unlocked the door Claudette found herself wondering for the first time if she would be able to handle what was waiting for her on the other side of that door.


	10. Adam Chapter 7

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 7

Claudette wouldn't like to admit it, even to herself, but the sound of the click as Doctor Kim unlocked the door to Dutch's hospital room made something, some part of herself, deep down inside twist and tie itself up in painful knots. She could feel her heart thudding against her rib cage and quickly glanced at Captain Aceveda and the doctor sure for one nonsensical moment that they would surely be able to hear it. Neither of the men returned her look, the doctor's face a professional mask, and Captain Aceveda's serious and tense with an uncertainty and nervousness around his eyes that she felt sure was reflected in her own.

As the door opened and the doctor proceeded them into the room Claudette found herself straining to see past his back, over his shoulder, straining to see the person that if she was honest with herself she'd never really expected to see alive again.

There was a sound from the room like thin metal snapping back into shape after being bent. It sounded sharp and brittle and too loud to Claudette's ears and made her jump ever so slightly, her body and emotions so tightly wound up that they felt as sharp and brittle as that sound. Then Doctor Kim stood aside and she could see him.

He stood by the window dressed in pale blue hospital scrubs that made him look somehow small and vulnerable. That impression was enhanced by the broad smile on his face, a smile that faltered when he saw them, when he looked past them and failed to see whomever it was he was expecting. That smile that at first faltered and then slowly faded and died made Claudette shudder. It was empty and unfeeling, it never reached his eyes, and it was cold. As if his facial muscles had been trained to contract in a certain way to approximate a genuine smile, but it was false and was as if he'd forgotten how to do the real thing.

Claudette's eyes swept over his body from head to foot and back again. He looked…like Dutch. Maybe his hair was a little longer then he'd usually kept it before his disappearance, but it was only an inch or so and really just meant it flopped forward over his forehead a little more then it had done. He was perhaps a little thinner in the face, his cheekbones a little more prominent, his cheeks a little hollowed, but it was nothing excessive and if someone who didn't know him so well or who wasn't studying him so closely looked they probably wouldn't even have noticed it.

It was the shocked look on Dutch's face that really grabbed Claudette's attention though. As he stared at them she could literally see the colour drain out of his already pale face until his skin became almost translucent under the harsh florescent lighting of the hospital room. His mouth dropped open and she could see fear skittering through his wide blue eyes.

Wanting to reassure him, to comfort him, to reach out and touch him and reassure herself that it really was him. That this was real and not just some cruel dream, but that it really was her partner and friend standing in front of her warm and substantial, not the elusive ghost she'd seen so many nights in her dreams, Claudette took a step forward and reached out a shaking hand to touch him. Gently she murmured,

"Dutch."

His response startled her so much she literally jumped back away from him.

He staggered backward away from her and looked at her aghast when she spoke his name. A heart wrenching,

"No." Spilled from his trembling lips.

As quickly as he could he retreated from them into the furthest corner of the room and dropping down to the floor he pressed himself as tightly into the corner as he could, his eyes squeezed shut as if to deny them existence.

Doctor Kim faltered for a moment obviously taken aback himself by the vehemence of Dutch's reaction to them, but he rapidly recovered his equilibrium and with his arms open wide quickly ushered them back out of the room into the corridor outside.

The door was forcefully shut cutting off the sight of her friend squeezed into a corner of the room rocking backwards and forwards banging his head against one wall as he did so. Maybe more disturbing then that was the fact that the closed door also closed off the sound of him shouting out,

"Taylor, Taylor…where are you? I want Taylor…I want to go home!"

Claudette heard Doctor Kim call out to the nurse who was situated down the hallway at the nurse's station, but after that all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears as nausea welled up within her. Turning she found herself rushing down the corridor barely making it to the door of the women's room and dropping down in front of a toilet being sick and sobbing at the same time.


	11. Adam Chapter 8

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 8

When he'd turned from the window with the obligatory wide smile on his face Adam had expected, had hoped, to see Taylor standing in the doorway. Taylor would be so pleased with him too. This time he was sure he must have passed Taylor's test. This time he'd stayed where he was and had waited for Taylor to come and fetch him. This time he hadn't had any thoughts of escape. This time he'd been good. Adam had been looking forward to seeing Taylor smiling at him, to hearing Taylor praising him. He'd been a little disappointed when the first person he'd seen standing in the doorway was the Asian doctor who'd spoken to him briefly when he was first placed in this hospital room. Adam merely kept his smile plastered on his face and tried to look around the body of the doctor to see who was behind him. When the woman stepped out from behind the doctor Adam felt the bottom fall out of his world.

She was standing motionless looking straight at him with a single minded intensity that gave the impression to Adam that she couldn't see anything else in the room except him. Her gaze was entirely focused on him. It made him feel exposed, naked, before her. A strange mixture of emotions seemed to play over her face. Adam had become very skilled at reading the subtleties of emotions on people's faces. Taylor's facial expressions seldom gave much away and he'd had to work hard to gain the ability to be able to read them, at least most of the time. Adam had found it was always a good idea to try and read Taylor, to anticipate his moods. If he could do that he could try and anticipate Taylor's needs and try and ensure Taylor would be in a good mood. It tended to make Adam's life a little easier, a little less painful, if he did.

The woman's face was much easier to read than Taylor's was. It was open and full of expression. Her face was at once pensive and hopeful, but with a hint of fear around her eyes. But it was more her face itself than the expression on it that took Adam's breath away, and made the colour drain out of his face; as he became momentarily light headed.

He didn't want to admit it to himself but Adam recognised the woman's face. That exact same face had haunted his dreams on too many nights, and he knew deep down inside that it had also been with him in the darkness. He knew the planes of that face as well as he knew his own. The arch of her eyebrow, the curve of her lips, the flare of her nostrils. All so familiar to him but he knew they were wrong. He thought that once her face had been a comfort to him, but down in the black it had changed and her features had twisted into disdain and hatred. Its cold cruelty had haunted his nightmares and he knew she belonged to the time before the darkness. Taylor had taught him that it was bad for him to think about that time. He'd convinced Adam that everything from then was dangerous and painful and Adam had been a quick study. He'd wanted to stay in the light so badly that he'd taken everything from before and smothered it, pushing it deep down inside himself.

He'd almost convinced himself that this woman's face that he saw in his dreams really only existed there. That she was a figment of his imagination – it was easier that way. Yet here she was larger then life, very solid, very real.

She was staring at him. Looking at him as if she didn't think he was real and then she stepped forward, reaching one hand out towards him. His stomach clenched and he felt frozen until she said one softly spoken word,

"Dutch."

It was too much. His carefully constructed reality was beginning to splinter apart before his eyes and Adam couldn't stand it, he couldn't cope with it. He needed distance, he needed escape, and he needed safety. He somehow managed a strangled one word denial before trying to distance himself from this apparition. Scuttling backwards Adam fled to the only place he felt any semblance of security. With his body wedged into the corner of the room with two walls at his back nothing would be able to sneak up on him unseen. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut trying to blot out the unwanted sights and sounds.

He was so lost in his inner turmoil that Adam didn't even realise he was rhythmically banging his head against the wall, the repetitive motion comforting and the burst of pain from it helping to smother the bad thoughts he could feel on the outskirts of his mind. The things that he knew he wasn't supposed to think about anymore. The things that would make Taylor mad. Adam reached out and caught hold of the thought of Taylor and filled his mind with him. Taylor would save him, he'd sooth Adam and make the confusing thoughts go away. He wanted Taylor and called out for him hoping that Taylor would hear him and would be merciful and make all these unsettling things disappear forever.

Adam was so caught up in his own world of misery and loss that he never felt the prick of the needle or the warm slide of the drug through his veins as Doctor Kim sedated him.


	12. Adam Third Interlude

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Third Interlude

Slowly waking up Dutch opened his eyes and then quickly closed them again when he was faced with the dark. He was grateful that he'd at least gotten over the stage where every time he awoke he opened his eyes and expected to see something. The phase he'd gone through early on in his captivity when he'd lie in that warm twilight world between sleep and wakefulness and he'd imagine the stranded woman, the cell and the darkness were all just a dream. After a while he'd eventually come to accept this as his reality now. He'd finally figured out that there really wasn't going to be some heroic rescue where he'd get to stumble, blinking and grinning into the light and be welcomed back by his rescuers into the land of the living. He knew deep down inside that his past life was over. He was never going to return to it again, never go to work, never go home, and never see the people he cared about. That thought had used to make him cry once. Sobbing out all his anguish and despair with his face buried in his musty mattress, feeling sorry for himself and at the same time feeling ashamed of his weakness. In fact he'd cried so much during that time that he didn't think that now he had any tears left inside him. The past weeks or months, he wasn't sure how much time had past actually, but however long it was out there it seemed like an eternity locked in this room. Anyway the time that had past, be it weeks or months, had seen him experiencing so many swings of emotion that he felt as if he had been left with nothing inside of him anymore. Like he'd been hollowed out and the darkness that surrounded him now filled him too.

He'd still had hope during the first few days of his incarceration. He'd explored every inch of the brick room he had awoken to find himself imprisoned in. Running his hands over every rough brick, his fingers always searching for some weakness in the mortar, some crevice that they could dig themselves into, some weakness they could exploit. Sometimes he'd scrabbled at the walls so hard trying to burrow his way through them that his fingers would be left sore and bleeding where he'd lost his mind momentarily. In his desperation and fear he'd totally freaked out, losing it until the pain from what he was doing would break through and he'd be left breathless cradling his sore hands, his fear tasting bitter in his mouth.

He'd felt his way over every inch of the metal door too. Searching for hinges the screws of which could be somehow undone. All he'd found though was a metal grill at the bottom of the door, the function of which had flummoxed him at first. Until he'd first heard the sharp click as it was drawn up and the slide of metal on stone as something was slid through it from the outside. No light had shone through the open grill indicating the outside was being kept as dark as his cell, but he didn't process this fact at first. Instead he'd rushed to the door shouting to be released, demanding answers, wanting contact with his captors, desperate enough to just want some human contact with somebody even if it was them. His shouts and the pounding of his fists on the door had been ignored though, and in a fit of temper and frustration he'd kicked out at the unrelenting metal forgetting in his anger, until his foot connected with the door, that he didn't have his shoes anymore. He was sure he'd broken his big toe then, a loud cracking sound emanating from it upon its violent contact with the door which had made his stomach roil as the sound had seemed very loud to his ears. A sharp pain in his foot, combined with his frustration at his failure to set up any dialogue with his captors on this first point of contact he'd had with them, had left him sitting on the floor clutching his foot and swearing so hard it would've made sailors blush. His toe still throbbed occasionally, but enough time seemed to have past since then that the worst of the injury had healed itself. He wondered sometimes when it would throb if he were turning into his granddad who'd apparently badly broken his arm when he'd been young and had sworn it ached when rain was coming. Dutch could remember when he was a kid being amazed by his granddad's unfailing ability to forecast the weather. Dutch's father had scoffed at the old man and said he'd seen the long range forecast, but Dutch had never known the old man to lie to him and had believed totally in his uncanny meteorological abilities. Who knew maybe it ran in the family and when his toe throbbed maybe it was raining on the outside. He wondered briefly if he'd ever see rain again, but dismissed the thought as useless.

Turning his mind back to the day he'd injured his toe he remembered that it had been only when the pain had subsided somewhat that he'd remembered the sound of metal sliding across stone. He'd reached out blindly and searching with his hands had found the metal tray that had been slid in from the outside. It had contained a couple of roast beef sandwiches and an apple, all of which he'd wolfed down in his hunger before wondering if maybe the food had been drugged. But he'd merely been overly paranoid, which considering his situation he'd been willing to forgive himself for, and the food had been fine merely giving him a mild case of indigestion which he guessed was his punishment for stuffing it all in his mouth so fast.

With a full stomach he'd even felt a little optimistic at the time that some progress had been made. At least if they were feeding him, he'd reasoned desperate to find some kind of silver lining in his seemingly hopeless situation, it didn't look like his abductors intended on burying him alive here and leaving him to starve slowly to death. If they wanted him alive and in reasonably good health well then apparently an opportunity to communicate and open up a dialogue with them could well still arise. Only it hadn't quite worked out that way, Dutch thought bitterly to himself.

The tray had been chained to the outside of the cell. The thin, but strong, chain running through a small groove at the base of the grill in the bottom of the door which had been slammed shut again after the tray had been pushed into the cell with his food on it. When he'd lain down on the floor and tried to peer through that small groove into the world beyond his cell hoping to see just a chink of warm light he'd been disappointed to be met with just more inky blackness. Dutch supposed his earlier theory that the outer environment was being kept dark as well was correct. Whoever had kidnapped him seemed to want him kept in the dark both figuratively and literally.

At some point after he'd eaten whatever was on the tray it would be quickly pulled back to the other side of the door. His food was always cold consisting of things like sandwiches, cold pie, or fruit, and never came with plates or cutlery.

At first he'd tried to mark the passing of time with each meal. Reasoning that he would be fed at fairly regular intervals at least twice a day. But he'd soon given that idea up as he realised that there seemed to be no set routine to when he was fed. Sometimes so much time would pass between meals that his stomach would be tying itself up in knots and he could swear he could feel his digestive juices beginning to eat there way through his stomach lining. At first when there were these long gaps between his getting food he'd been afraid that he really was going to be left to starve. That they'd fed him just to toy with him, to give him false hope, as a joke just to be cruel. Or, another scenario would play itself out in his head, what if something had happened to his captors? An accident, or even if they'd been arrested for something unconnected to him, would he be left here to rot away alone until eventually all that was left would be a pathetic pile of rags wrapped around some bones. But these fears had proven unfounded, as eventually another meal would appear through the grill. Then there were the times when it seemed that they couldn't shove food at him fast enough. No sooner would one meal be eaten then another would arrive, and then another. He'd either have to gorge himself or save some of it on his mattress for later eating it before it went stale. He soon realised that there was method to this madness on the behalf of his captors. The irregular meal times prevented him from doing the one thing he'd been hoping to use them for, to mark the passage of time. His kidnappers obviously intended to keep him off balance, and it worked. His inability to know how long he'd been held captive alone in the dark still bothered him. He'd even tried guessing how much time had past by gauging how much his beard had grown, but he even had to give that up as useless since he really wasn't the wilderness survival type and didn't really have any idea how fast a beard grew. All it did for him was itch and make him feel even more unlike himself.

Dutch flopped over onto his back trying to push the thoughts of his early days in captivity out of his mind. If he thought back to those days too much it inevitably led to him thinking back to his life before, and he couldn't stand the ache inside his heart that those memories stirred up.

Pulling himself upright Dutch pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and shivered. Then he heard it. The whispers, the voices coming to him out of the darkness. It wasn't the first time he'd heard these disembodied voices reaching out for him from the furthest corner of the room. At first he'd tried sticking his fingers in his ears to blot them out, but that never worked they just got louder until the sounds from their voices reverberated around inside his skull making his head ache. At first the words would be indistinct, just a collection of noise that blended into itself in a continuous murmur, but then individual words would become distinguishable and then whole sentences. They whispered horrible, ugly things to him. Words full of contempt and hate taunting him, telling him he was doomed to remain here alone forever, that no one cared he was missing, no one was looking for him, he'd been forgotten, he'd been abandoned. Voices he recognised from his life before would join in the taunting, telling him they didn't want him back, telling him that he was useless and they were better off without him. He heard Claudette laughing at the silent tears that slid down his cheeks, tears he hadn't even thought himself capable of shedding anymore.

Sometimes when the silence got too loud for him to bear he sang just to fill the silence up. He'd sing everything and anything just to hear a noise even if it was his slightly off key, slightly out of tune rendition of a Duran Duran song. Now he tried the same thing. Hardly noticing what he was doing he shuffled himself backwards until he'd wedged himself into a corner of the room so that whatever was out there in the dark couldn't sneak up on him. He stared out into the black and with a trembling voice began to sing "Girls on Film" as loudly as he could. Not sure if he was trying to be defiant or just trying to hold onto some semblance of sanity.


	13. Adam Chapter 9

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 9

Claudette had emerged from the woman's rest room after rinsing the taste of bile from her mouth and splashing some cold water onto her face to find Captain Aceveda waiting for her in the corridor outside. He looked at her red rimmed eyes but had the good grace not to mention them, for which Claudette was eternally grateful to him.

"Doctor Kim's gone in to sedate Dutch. He suggested we go back to the ground floor waiting room, and he'll speak to us as soon as he can." Aceveda told her.

Claudette glanced back towards the closed door of Dutch's hospital room and felt guilty that she was following Aceveda away from there, feeling as if she were abandoning him. Of course she'd known deep down that Dutch would be different, that whatever horrors he'd experienced over the past year would have changed him. But the person she'd seen in that room had been a complete stranger to her. His eyes had shown none of the warmth she was used to seeing within them when he looked at her and which she'd missed over the past year; instead they had been filled with fear. His horrified reaction when she'd reached out for him and said his name had rocked her to her very core.

Neither she nor Captain Aceveda spoke as they made their way back to the waiting room, and though the two FBI Special Agents from San Francisco were still there, they had the good sense to keep quiet. They probably guessed by the expressions on Claudette and Aceveda's faces that things hadn't gone well.

Claudette finally sat down in one of the less then comfortable green plastic waiting room chairs and couldn't stop herself from staring dejectedly down at the tiled floor. She only looked up when the strong aroma of coffee entered her nostrils and she heard Aceveda's softly spoken,

"Here drink this."

The Captain held out a steaming cup of coffee he'd purchased from the vending machine in the corridor outside the waiting room. Reaching out and taking hold of the Styrofoam cup Claudette wrapped her hands around it feeling the heat bleeding through the well insulated material warming her flesh and making her shiver slightly. After taking a careful sip she looked up at him and murmured,

"Thanks."

Nodding Aceveda sat down next to her and then turned his attention to the two quiet FBI agents who were sitting together several seats away from him and Claudette.

"When you saw Detective Wagenbach in San Francisco how was he? How was he…reacting to the situation?"

The two men glanced at each other for a moment before one of them looked across at the Captain and replied,

"He…um…didn't seem to be reacting very well to be honest."

"What do you mean?" Claudette asked.

"We weren't at the initial raid on Fitzgerald's house. We only met Detective Wagenbach at the hospital, but the agents who brought him from the house into St. Luke's said he didn't…well he didn't seem to want to be rescued." The agent looked at Aceveda and Claudette anxiously for a moment before continuing. "They said he refused to answer to his name and insisted his name was Adam. He refused to answer any of their questions, and just kept asking for Fitzgerald.

When we saw him at the hospital he was pretty much freaking out and the docs there had to give him an injection to knock him out."

The man sounded apologetic as he told them what little he knew.

"And you didn't think that any of that might just be important enough for you to tell us before?" Claudette fumed at him.

She saw both agents wince at her tone and felt guilty for taking some of the anger she felt towards Fitzgerald and the universe in general out on them.

The other agent finally spoke up his tone sounding rather defensive,

"Look we didn't see what happened at the house for ourselves we just heard about it, and as to what happened at St. Luke's…well the guy freaked out, but who could blame him after what's he's been through. For all we knew he could've got his shit together and we'd have just been worrying you for nothing."

Claudette understood where the man was coming from she really did, and so she tried to give him a small smile, although she knew she'd failed miserably and felt as though it was more of a grimace then a genuine smile and she said,

"I know…I know, I'm sorry. It's just…it's hard…"

Her voice broke a little on the last word, but she didn't really care and both men accepted her apology, one of them muttering,

"It's okay."

The group sat in silence for a while longer each lost in their own melancholy thoughts until finally the waiting room door opened and Doctor Kim stepped into the room closing the door behind him. Claudette didn't like the concerned look on the doctor's face, and the fear for her partner and friend that was gnawing away steadily at her gripped her a little tighter, and felt a little sharper.

"How is he?" Aceveda asked from her left, leaving Claudette relieved that he'd done so since she wasn't sure she was brave enough to have voice the question herself.

"I've given him a sedative and he's sleeping right now. However, as you saw for yourselves he was displaying definite self harming behaviour, and so he's also been placed in restraints for his own safety."

A small gasp escaped from Claudette at those words, and she wondered just how far this whole God damned mess was going to spin out of control. The doctor noted her reaction with a sympathetic glance in her direction before he continued,

"Detective Wagenbach's strong reaction to your presence showed a level of disassociation from his past that quite frankly took me somewhat by surprise. The report from St. Luke's did seem to indicate the fact that over his year of captivity Detective Wagenbach had constructed a kind of alternate reality for himself. No doubt it's a defense mechanism from his mind to help him cope with the extreme stress of the situation he found himself in. However, I'd been hoping that seeing familiar faces from his past would help to jolt him out of this self deluded state, but unfortunately it seems Detective Wagenbach is going to need some intensive therapy to help him over his trauma."

"But is he going to get better? Recognise us?" Captain Aceveda asked.

"It's really far too early to be trying to give you an accurate prognosis, but hopefully his removal from the environment that was causing his stress will facilitate his beginning to heal."

"Can we see him again?" Claudette forced herself to ask, and was ashamed with herself at the relief she felt when Doctor Kim shook his head before replying,

"No…no I'm sorry, but Detective Wagenbach is in a far too delicate mental state to risk his being further upset at the moment." Then as an after thought he added. "But perhaps it will be possible later, when he's feeling…calmer, more settled. Then we'll see."


	14. Adam Chapter 10

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 10

When he'd first woken up after _"the visit"_ Adam's head had felt stuffed full of cotton wool, his thought processes sluggish and confused. Lying with his eyes closed he'd vaguely wondered if either he was suffering from the after affects of too much wine, if he'd drunken far too quickly in an attempt to numb things, or maybe if Taylor had let him do a couple of lines of coke. Taylor liked to let him have some cocaine occasionally it seemed to amuse him to watch Adam snorting a few lines of the drug up his nose. He said it made Adam relax, loosened him up a bit, Adam didn't really care as long as it blurred the lines and let him drift above what ever Taylor was doing to his body.

He hadn't even thought anything of it when he couldn't move his hands. After all it wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up still tied to the bed; he was just relieved he couldn't remember the night before. And if his hands were secured at his sides instead of over his head as normal, well it wasn't his place to question what Taylor wanted. It had only been as he had been lying there in a bit of a pleasant haze listening carefully to the quiet room trying to determine if Taylor had left already, or if he was just sitting quietly waiting for Adam to wake up, that the details of the visit began to filter into his brain. He suddenly remembered he wasn't at home anymore, and his eyes had snapped open to find himself tied down to a hospital bed in the hospital's psychiatric wing.

That had been six days ago and thankfully he hadn't been drugged up and tied to his hospital bed since. Instead he got to spend his days alternating between mind numbing boredom and complete and utter confusion when strange images of places and people he felt he should know, and half remembered conversations that seemed so familiar flashed through his mind.

Then interposed throughout his day would be one or sometimes two visits from his therapist Doctor Bennett who'd been assigned to him by the hospital's chief of psychiatry Doctor Kim. Doctor Bennett was in her mid-fifties Adam would have guessed with greying hair and a face that showed a few lines and wrinkles and none of the effects of any surgical intervention to try and slow down the passage of time. She was what could be described as petite, but despite her diminutive size she didn't seem to take any crap from anybody – including him. His blusters of temper during their first few meetings had been met by a calm exterior that just sat and waited until his temper had blown itself out and then a quiet voice would announce,

"Right then, if you're finished let's continue shall we?"

Nothing seemed to upset her, nothing seemed to disturb her air of calm and she insisted on calling him Holland, even when he'd refused to respond to it and had shouted at her in his loudest voice,

"My name's Adam you stupid bitch!"

She hadn't batted an eye lid and had just responded with,

"Your name is Detective Holland Wagenbach. You were born on October the seventeenth 1967 in a small town called Scott's Bluff in Nebraska. Adam is the name given to you by your kidnapper and abuser and I won't use it."

And Adam liked her despite himself.

At first he'd been reluctant to talk to her though. He didn't like dwelling on things, thinking things through too deeply. He found it only confused him and made him feel sad and upset, deeply unsettled down inside of himself. So Adam tried to live from one moment to the next, never over analysing anything or thinking about the past. Yet this was exactly what Doctor Bennett wanted him to do all the time. At the start of each session she would reiterate the same statement,

"Your name is Detective Holland Wagenbach. You were born on October the seventeenth 1967 in a small town called Scott's Bluff in Nebraska. You are a detective working for the Los Angeles Police Department and you're stationed in an area called Farmington. Just over a year ago you were abducted by a man called Taylor Fitzgerald and you have been held prisoner by him until your recent rescue. Now I think we need to discuss what happened during the time you were held prisoner by him Holland."

For the first couple of days he'd refused to answer, usually getting mad and calling her a liar, telling her he wanted to see Taylor, he wanted to go home with him. He would insist it was she who was colluding with others and that their actions were resulting in him being held against his will. But even when he was yelling at her something deep inside of him had begun to whisper that he was free, that he didn't have to hide away anymore, that he could remember the time before the dark. That voice had gotten louder and more insistent and while he tried to ignore it at first, remembering how much trouble he'd gotten into with Taylor the last time he'd listened to it and had tried to escape. However, eventually the voice just got too loud and too insistent and he gave in to it, and for the past couple of days he'd finally sat down opposite Doctor Bennett and had begun to talk to her.

The first thing he had told her was about the dark. How it had gradually smothered him, squeezing the life out of him until it had eventually eaten him up. An hour or so after this session a nurse had come to his room and left a night light beside his bed saying that Doctor Bennett had thought he might like it. That night when he'd lain awake staring at the light feeling bathed in it's warm, reassuring glow he felt something give inside his chest. Something that had been coiled and twisted inside for too long loosened just a little bit, and for the first time in such a long time he slept the night through without any nightmares.

After that he'd told Doctor Bennett in a quiet voice how he'd sat in the dark and had sung every song he'd known until his voice had given out on him just so he could have something to fill up the silence. He told her how he was finally grateful to his seventh grade English literature teacher Mr. Gibbs for making the class learn poetry by heart, each of them having to recite it to the rest of the class every Friday afternoon. "Ode to A Nightingale", "The Lady of Shallot", "The Charge of the Light Brigade" all of which had been cursed as torture when he'd had to learn them had been embraced as a great comfort when he'd surprised himself by realising that they were still buried in his brain and he still remembered them.

He'd told her about the voices and faces that had begun to haunt him in the dark. How he'd taken refuge in his corner huddling away from them and had felt terrified and bewildered all at the same time. He hadn't noticed the tears running down his cheeks until Doctor Bennett had simply handed him some tissues without making any comment.

Today he knew she wanted to talk about the time he'd finally been released from his lonely, dark prison. The thought of revisiting that time frightened him but he knew the time had come for him to really begin to exorcise his ghosts and try to take back what had been stolen from him – his old life.

An hour later when Doctor Bennett had arrived for their session and seating herself opposite from him had smiled and as normal had begun,

"Your name is Detective Holland Wagenbach…"

He interrupted her and said much more firmly then he felt inside,

"Dutch…everyone calls me Dutch."


	15. Adam Fourth Interlude Part A

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Fourth Interlude Part A

He could feel the rise and fall of his chest, hear the inhalation and exhalation of each breath so he knew despite the tight band that had wrapped itself around his chest that he hadn't suffocated, that he was still alive. His mouth was dry and his lips were chapped so he knew despite the rough, slightly swollen feel of his tongue that he hadn't died of dehydration, that he was still alive. Despite the fact his stomach griped and twisted itself into knots and felt empty and hollow he knew he hadn't starved that he was still alive. But only just.

He'd given up. Sitting wedged into his corner too terrified by what lurked in the dark to move anymore. Too terrified to make the slightest noise. Too terrified to even think. The familiar sounds of metal scrapping on the stone floor as his meal tray was pushed through the grill was ignored. The thoughts of the cool water that was waiting just on the other side of his cell was pushed away. The thought of leaving the sanctuary of his corner and venturing alone into that waiting maw of inky night too much for him to even contemplate. He felt tired and lethargic, like an empty husk waiting to crumble and turn to dust and then blow away on the slightest breeze. His thoughts were muddled and sluggish. In his head memories of a time before were overwhelmed by the darkness and isolation inside of him. He no longer knew what was real and what just came out of the black. The things he thought he remembered becoming dreamlike, insubstantial as smoke, slipping away from him until he began to wonder if he'd just made them up to stop himself from being so alone. Maybe none of those people or places existed outside of his mind. Maybe he'd made them up, conjured them out of the darkness and there'd never really been a time before the darkness.

When it finally happened he'd been so stunned that even while he'd been busy screwing his eyes tightly shut against the agonising pain that lanced itself into his pupils like needles. Or when he was crying out making a mournful noise more like a croak from a throat feeling parched dry and mostly from a lack of use, his days of singing and rambling poetry recitals long in the past. There had been silence then and with his eyes closed he'd wondered if he'd imagined it. He no longer really trusted his eyes or ears, his mind was so adept at conjuring up nightmares or mirages to torment and tantalise him with. For a long moment he hesitated afraid to open his eyes to find out that the vision wasn't real, and yet he was also nearly just as terrified that when he opened his eyes to look that it would be real.

Slowly he let his eyes flutter open just a crack, his heart hammering in his chest so hard and sounding so loud in his ears that he feared that he was having a heart attack. As he opened his eyes again he had to fight against the instinctual urge to close them again as once again pain stabbed sharp and jagged through his head.

It hadn't been a mirage. Yet as he blinked up through watering eyes at the sharp, bright rectangle of golden light that spilled it's bright reflection in a beam across the stone floor it felt unreal and disconnected from him, as if it were merely a dream plucked from thin air. Reaching up he rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes wiping away the tears that the glare had produced, and hoping to wipe away the dull ache that had begun to pulse behind he eyes. Dropping his hands back to his lap he could finally make out the dark silhouette that stood in the open doorway. He couldn't discern any features but it was someone, a person, another human being. That knowledge made something break inside his chest and this time the tears that rolled down his face and fell salty and stinging onto his chapped lips were from a release of pent up emotions that he hadn't even previously been aware of – relief, joy, sadness, fear. Conflicting feelings that warred within him threatening to overwhelm him. Then a voice rang out, deep and clear,

"Hello Adam, I've come for you. It's time for you to come out into the light."

At first he didn't know what to do. Fearful for a second that if he moved he'd shatter the moment and the golden light and his saviour would both be swallowed up in the darkness. But then the figure standing in the light held out his hand towards him saying,

"It's alright Adam. I'm here now, you can come out."

A different fear gripped him now. A fear that if he lingered too long then his hesitation might cause his saviour to change his mind and leave him here forever alone in the dark. So taking a shaky breath he braced his hands against the walls and pulled himself upright. For a moment his legs felt too unsteady and weak to support him, but a fierce determination not to be left behind seized him and pulling himself up straight he took slightly hesitant, slightly wavering steps forward.

As he moved into the shaft of light that spilled in through the open door across the floor he was sure he felt warmth flowing through his body, heating his chilled flesh, making his very bones burn momentarily. Making sure he stayed in the light he walked towards the man who was waiting for him. As he approached the door he could see that the silhouetted figure was that of a man about the same height as himself, muscular with dark hair and eyes. That was about all the detail he could process at that moment because as he approached him the man held out his hand to him, and when he reached out, after the merest pause, and took it he felt warm skin under his fingers. For a moment he allowed himself to bask in the sensation of real human touch after so long alone.

He allowed himself to be drawn forward by the other man's grip on his hand and he was led out of his dark prison into the full glare of light and air and space. As he looked around everything was bright and sharp. Colours vibrated with energy, lines were crisp, different textures stood out and begged to be touched. He wanted to reach out and feel everything. His attention was pulled back to the other man when he said,

"It's good to have you here Adam. I've been waiting for you for such a long time. My name's Taylor and I'm going to look after you from now on." Then he paused for a moment before asking, "What's your name?"

The question confused him and he could detect a certain steel in the other man's, in Taylor's, voice when he'd asked it. He wasn't sure why but somehow he understood that this was probably the most important question he'd ever had to answer in his life, and everything hinged on his answer – his future, his happiness, his entire existence even. Suddenly the clouds of confusion cleared from his mind and determined to survive he pushed any lingering doubts from his mind and hesitantly smiling back at the other man he replied in a quiet uncertain voice,

"Adam…my name's Adam."

The other man seemed to visible relax at his words and even smiled back at him briefly as he said,

"Good…good Adam. Now let's see about getting you cleaned up shall we? A shower, a shave and some hot food. Then you'll soon feel better and you can start to settle into your new home." Taking a few steps towards a set of wooden stairs, and more importantly away from the cell, he waved his hand to indicate that Adam should follow him before adding, "Come on Adam I'll show you to your rooms and you can get cleaned up and rest before we…talk."

After only the briefest of hesitations Adam followed Taylor, but as he reached the first step he couldn't stop himself from quickly glancing back over his shoulder at the open door to his cell and the darkness that lay beyond it. Shuddering he silently vowed to himself that he'd do whatever it took to make sure that he'd never have to set foot in there again.


	16. Adam Fourth Interlude Part B

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Fourth Interlude Part B

After he had led Adam to his suite of rooms and shown him the closet full of expensive new clothes in his size. The luxurious bathroom with the huge fluffy towels and the shower big enough for about four people to fit into. The table with fresh bread rolls which were still warm and a bowl of steaming tomato soup, and a jug of ice water with ice cubes bobbing on the surface; after he had shown Adam all these wonders Taylor had simple left telling Adam he'd be back soon.

Adam heard the lock click shut on the door after Taylor had closed it and acknowledged what he had already surmised –that this was as much his prison as his dark cell had been. But looking at the luxury that surrounded him, and smelling the delicious soup on the table, and considering the promise that he'd no longer be all alone that he'd have human contact he also acknowledged that at that exact moment he didn't really care. He was out of that awful place and back in the real world, back in the light, alive again after being buried for so long and that was all that counted.

For a moment he stood torn between the need to get clean and the hunger and thirst that consumed him. The need for sustenance won out in the end and he was sure he'd never tasted anything better and more refreshing and nourishing than the water and soup he sat at the table to consume.

After he'd drunk half the jug of cold refreshing water and licked his soup bowl clean, sucking every last bread crumb from his fingers Adam decided it was time to get himself clean too. Walking into the bathroom he paused at the threshold to the room startled when he caught sight of the wild looking stranger that was staring back at him from across the room. It actually took him several seconds to realise that he was facing a full length mirror on the opposite wall that he'd failed to notice before when Taylor had briefly let him stick his head around the door to look quickly around the room earlier. It seemed that the dirty, scruffy, ragged visage that faced him wasn't some street person but was actually his own reflection. Walking forward he stopped mere inches from the glass and studied what he saw there.

His hair was definitely a little longer falling over his shirt collar and flopping over his forehead, it was also matted into tangles and greasy, and it made his head itch just looking at it. He had a scruffy beard that was kind of patchy and reddish in colour and reminded him of why, after a brief attempt at a beard when he was twenty, he was always clean shaven. It hadn't developed into a kind of wild bird's nest on his face or anything but it just looked – wrong. His skin was streaked with dirt and a slight sniff in the direction of his armpits had him wrinkling his nose in disgust at the ripe aroma that emanated from them. He felt slightly ashamed when he remembered that in the early days of his incarceration he'd tried to keep up a semblance of personal hygiene even if he did only have cold water to wash with. But eventually as his grasp on reality had begun to slip he hadn't really cared if he smelt or not. Looking at himself now with his dirty, torn shirt and pants, and his face and hands dirt streaked he felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for the rather forlorn figure that looked back at him from the mirror.

Adam took a deep breath and resolved to wipe this person he was gazing at away. If he wanted Taylor to keep him up here in the light with him then he'd better shed this tramp image pretty quickly.

He hesitated for a moment between stepping into the gigantic shower or shaving off the offending facial hair. The shave narrowly came out on top. He wanted to be able to see himself again not this fuzzy faced stranger. So moving over to the sink he used the shaving equipment, foam and safety razors that had been left for him and set about shedding his beard.

As he shaved he gazed at himself in the mirror over the double sink, but it was in a distracted fashion. It was almost as if he was focused so narrowly on watching the soapy foam cover the hair on his face and the raspy scrape of steel blades as they cut swathes through his unwanted beard that he didn't fully focus on his face as a whole. His attention only left the movement of the blades across his chin and cheeks when he looked down into the sink to watch the shorn bristles swirl around with the discarded foam in the running water and disappear from view down the plug hole. When he'd finished he snatched up a towel and patted his face dry barely noticing the speckles of red he left on it's soft white surface from the numerous nicks and cuts he'd inflicted upon himself with his slightly unsteady hands.

It wasn't until he returned to stand in front of the full length mirror where he'd first seen himself once more that he really took proper notice of how he looked now. That he looked deeper then just the surface.

Reaching out one finger he rested the tip of it against the cool, hard surface of the glass touching the reflection of his face. It looked kind of bizarre in one sense. The top half of his face was dirty while the lower half of his face was now clean and pale. Too pale, he thought absently, paler then it had been. He'd faded somewhat in the dark it seemed. At least though he recognised this face and on the glass his fingertip traced the outline of his lips, the curve of his chin, the line of his nose. However, when he finally, properly, looked into his eyes he quickly withdrew his finger almost as if he'd been burnt, which in a way he had been, but not by fire, but by ice. He flinched back from the cold, empty, slightly desperate look in his eyes that he knew was alien to him. As he stared he was sure he saw some of the darkness that had gotten inside him swirling in their depths.

Pulling his gaze away from the hollow facsimile that wore his face Adam stumbled towards the shower practically tearing his clothes off in his hurry to get under it's hot, cleansing spray. He was desperate to try to wash the cold darkness he felt inside himself away with the dirt and the grime.


	17. Adam Fourth Interlude Part C

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Fourth Interlude Part C

Taylor didn't return until night had fallen and Adam was sitting on the couch staring up enraptured at the light he'd just switched on. As soon as he'd flicked the switch on the wall and the warm light had spilled out from the bulb banishing the growing gloom of darkness from even the corners of the room Adam had sworn to himself that he'd never take anything for granted again. It wasn't until you'd lived deprived of something so basic such as light that you really appreciated it when someone gave it back to you again, he thought.

Taylor brought with him a tray and Adam could see, and smell, a couple of plates of pasta with tomato and basil sauce, glass dishes filled with zabaglione for dessert and a bottle of wine and two glasses. Taylor set the tray down on the table and quickly set two places of cutlery and distributed the dishes of food. Uncorking the bottle of wine he turned towards where Adam still sat watching him and smiling he said,

"Come and sit down and eat with me Adam. I'm sure you must be hungry again and you don't want to let the pasta get cold do you?"

Taylor was right the smell of the pasta and sauce had made Adam's mouth water and his stomach growl, but it wasn't only hunger that made him hurriedly get up from the couch and seat himself in the chair Taylor had indicated for him. Adam had vowed to do whatever it took to survive and he was pretty sure that the main thing that would help to ensure his survival would be pleasing Taylor. So if Taylor wanted them to sit down to a meal together then that's exactly what Adam would do. Adam quickly and ruthlessly clamped down on the worried little voice in his head that whispered the questions – _"But what else will Taylor want? What else are you willing to do to survive? How far are you willing to go?"_ Squashing down those frightening questions Adam swallowed his nerves and glancing up quickly at Taylor's face he tentatively smiled back and murmured,

"Thank you." When Taylor filled his wine glass, before dropping his eyes back down to his plate.

He heard the scrape of the chair as Taylor took his seat and then Taylor's voice as he said,

"Well come along then Adam eat it up before it gets cold."

Adam reached out grasping his knife and fork in hands that shook ever so slightly as he edged them towards his plate. He tried to will them to stop, but his efforts at mind over matter were in vain when his cutlery clattered on his plate and in a panic he put his fork down and reached for his wine glass. He'd gulped down half the glass before a small chuckle from Taylor made him glance up at the other man. Taylor just smiled indulgently back at him from across the table before saying,

"It's alright to be nervous Adam I don't mind that at all. Just as long as you behave and do as you're told we'll get along just fine. Now why don't you take a deep breath, pick up your fork and eat your food."

Adam could feel his face burning red in embarrassment as he picked up his fork and stammered out an apology,

"Yes…yes. I'm…s…sorry."

"No harm done." Taylor assured him. "Shall I refill your wine glass?"

"Um…yes please…Thank you…it's very nice…" Adam answered his voice trailing off and he felt tongue tied and incredibly clumsy and stupid, next to the other man who seemed completely at his ease.

Finally managing to spear some pasta with his fork Adam began to eat not really tasting the food he put in his mouth only aware of Taylor's eyes watching his every movement. After he'd eaten several mouthfuls the other man seemed to be satisfied and Adam glanced across the table to see him finally eating too.

Then Taylor began to make casual conversation about the food, the wine, and the rooms Adam had been assigned. He asked if Adam was comfortable, if there was anything he needed. He sounded like a concerned host and spoke with an ease and familiarity that made it seem as if they were old friends, not jailer and prisoner. Adam tried to join in with the illusion, he tried to say something interesting and witty but he knew he was failing miserably and most of his answers to Taylor's questions or observations were monosyllabic and he even managed to stumble and trip over most of those. To his own ears he sounded like a half-wit and the more desperately he tried to rectify the situation the more he stammered and paused and repeated himself.

It wasn't until his spoon had scraped the last of the zabaglione from the sides of the glass dessert dish that he realised that along with keeping the conversation flowing Taylor had also been keeping the wine flowing. It was only when he felt the room spin and an alcoholic warmth and lassitude spreading out through his limbs from his belly that he realised that Taylor had been methodically re-filling his glass while only sipping at his. Now most of the bottle had been drunk and Adam realised that he'd been the one who'd nearly finished it off single-handedly.

Carefully placing his spoon onto the table beside his desert dish Adam could feel the full weight of Taylor's gaze upon him. The air between them seemed suddenly charged and tense and unconsciously Adam began to chew on his bottom lip, his eyes darting anywhere but at the man sitting across the table from him. As the silence stretched on between them Adam became increasingly nervous, his hands restlessly fiddling with the napkin on his lap while the quiet began to become oppressive and reminded him a little of his cell. He felt a sharp stab of fear at that thought and his mind began to frantically search for something to say, something, anything to fill up the empty silence that was weighing more and more heavily upon him. However, he found his mind was a blank and he couldn't think of what to say, and more importantly he was worried that if he opened his mouth he'd blunder and say the wrong thing. He was afraid he'd say something to upset or anger Taylor, something to make him cast Adam out from his warm, light paradise. When Taylor finally put him out of his misery and said in a quiet yet commanding voice,

"It's time we got to know each other better. Time to go into the bedroom and make ourselves comfortable Adam."

Adam was just so relieved that the silence had been broken that he gave no thought to the implications of Taylor's words and just scrambled up almost eagerly saying,

"Yes…yes if you want to."

And he followed Taylor into the other room as docile as a lamb going to the slaughter.


	18. Adam Fourth Interlude Part D

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Fourth Interlude Part D

Once in the other room and finding himself confronted with the sight of a smiling Taylor standing beside what could possibly be one of the biggest beds that Adam had ever seen in his entire life it was then that Adam found his step faltering. The implication of the reason he'd been brought here, which he'd studiously been suppressing ever since Taylor had released him from his prison earlier that day was making itself known. Adam tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but suddenly found his mouth as dry as the Sahara desert.

Taylor's eyes never left his face and his smile only got wider as he noted Adam's growing discomfort. Reaching out with one hand he said,

"Come here Adam."

Adam looked from Taylor's smiling face and down to his extended hand and back up to his face again and instead took a measured step back away from the other man. Suddenly some of the alcoholic haze began to lift and Adam could feel himself beginning to sober up. He actually wished he wasn't becoming more sober because right then he thought some more alcoholic numbing might be just what he needed. But the pleasant buzz he'd been feeling just minutes before was definitely dissipating under the crushing reality of his situation.

Taylor hadn't moved and was still standing by the bed with one hand extended in invitation. Adam knew that all his fear, all his confusion and indecision was showing on his face, and he was aware of Taylor watching it all being played out there. Bizarrely it seemed to Adam that the more skittish and unsure he became the wider Taylor's smile seemed to get until he was showing so many teeth that he reminded Adam of a crocodile. Finally Taylor spoke again,

"It's your decision Adam. Either you come here and we start to get to know each other better or…"

Here Taylor stopped leaving the unspoken, but very real, threat hanging in the air.

He had said it was Adam's decision but what could he do? He felt that whatever choice he made he was damned. He could see from Taylor's pleased expression that he knew it too. Taylor knew that he had him trapped with no escape. Adam's mind had been frantically searching for something, some kind of plan, to extract himself from this horrible dilemma, but there was nothing and he knew it. He shivered as he felt an icy tingle of dread circulate through his blood. He thought of his earlier vow to do anything to survive, anything not to have to return to the dark cell, and he took the inner voice that was screaming _"NO"_ at him so loudly that he was surprised that Taylor couldn't hear it, he took that voice and shut it away in the deepest recesses of his mind. He knew that to survive, that to live out in the light, he couldn't listen to that voice anymore. He couldn't be the person that voice belonged to anymore. He was Adam now, and he had to be only Adam from now on.

He was still surprised though at the sheer will power it took for him to get his legs to move him forward towards Taylor.

It seemed to take an eternity to walk across the room, but for Adam it could never take long enough. Still he found himself standing silently in front of Taylor, and even though his survival instinct was screaming at him to be compliant, to take Taylor's outstretched hand in his own hand Adam just couldn't make himself do it. It was a massive relief for him when Taylor silently acknowledged that this was a step too far for Adam yet and dropped it back down by his side. Adam didn't expect that he would get many more concessions from the other man though.

Taylor merely watched Adam for a moment and even though Adam was aware he was trembling and even though this made him feel weak he couldn't help himself. His fear and dread were escalating by the second. When Taylor spoke again it was in a quiet, controlled voice, but in the commanding tone of someone who was used to getting his own way and expected to be obeyed.

"This is going to happen Adam and it's up to you if it's going to be easy or hard on you. I don't mind either way, but know this I want you and I'm going to take you." Here he paused for a moment to let Adam digest what he'd said, Adam supposed, but then he continued, "Now how is this going to be? Do you want it to be easy and maybe even pleasurable for you or do you want it to be…difficult and painful?"

Adam was speechless. What was he supposed to say? How did Taylor expect him to react? How could he meekly volunteer himself for his own…? Here his train of thought came to a screeching halt. Jesus, he couldn't even think the word. He couldn't even acknowledge the truth of what was about to happen to him to himself so how could he just let it happen? "It" why use a stupid euphemism when he knew perfectly well what was going to happen to him. He knew it in graphic, technicolour details and images. All that was uncertain it seemed was the exact process Taylor had planned for him. After all how much was he supposed to participate in his own brutalization? Ah, still hiding behind those euphemisms, he thought to himself bitterly. Would he be made to do things as well as have things done to him? Would there be restraints used, and if there were would that make it somehow easier on his conscience? Yeah, after all if he was tied up he could try and convince himself that he couldn't help what happened to him. He could try to convince himself that he couldn't fight back. He could try to convince himself that he wasn't a total coward. Because he knew what answer he was going to give Taylor. He knew which of the Faustian choices he was going to pick.

Yet even so that word stuck in his throat. It was such a little word too. Just two little syllables but it felt as if it were choking him. Taylor was patient though, not hurrying him, just standing there watching and waiting for him to damn himself. Eventually Adam managed to stutter out one word,

"E…easy."

He was giving the other man permission to rape him and he felt the final small shreds of any dignity he once had shatter into a million pieces and disappear.


	19. Adam Fourth Interlude Part E

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Fourth Interlude Part E

Adam lay huddled under the covers lying precariously on the edge of the huge bed as far away from the sleeping man on the other side of the bed as he could get without actually being on the floor, and wishing he could slip out of the bed and find a safe corner to squeeze himself into. He lay as still and quiet as he could afraid of disturbing Taylor. Afraid that if the other man woke up he might want to do _"that"_ again. Not that Adam thought what had happened to him was going to be a one off event, his stomach roiled at the thought that this was his life now. "You'll get used to it" Taylor had whispered in his ear as he'd wiped away Adam's tears with his long, cool fingers. Sadly Adam knew that Taylor was probably right, no doubt given time he would get used to it. Human beings were marvelously adaptable when it came to survival after all. But he just couldn't bare the thought of going through that again, not so soon after this first time.

To pass the time and mostly to try and occupy his mind Adam stared at the wallpaper and made mountain ranges and desert islands from its swirls and splashes of colour. Taylor had allowed him to keep a small lamp lit so that at least he wasn't in the dark. However, when Adam thought of how he'd had to pay for that concession – on his knees with Taylor's bitter taste on his tongue making him gag – he wondered if maybe the price had been too high.

He moved slightly and carefully so he was lying more on his front trying to ease the painful throbbing in his backside. There hadn't really been much blood. He guessed the "poppers" that Taylor had shoved under his nose holding on tightly to the back of his neck, bending his head forward and instructing him to "sniff…breathe it right in. It'll make this easier." At that point Adam was desperate for anything to make what was being done to him a little easier so he'd done as he was told. He'd sniffed the vapour from the small, brown bottle Taylor had held and had immediately felt his head spin as he was consumed by an overwhelming head rush. His heart had been hammering so hard and fast in his chest that it had felt as if it were slamming into his rib cage and everything had been spinning so that he'd felt dizzy and disorientated.

It had still hurt though. The pain sharp and bright and tearing. Burning through him making him cry out and struggle, making Taylor grasp his hips even harder. But the drug had done what it was designed to do. It had relaxed his muscles against his will. It had made Taylor's invasion of his body easier. Adam wondered briefly if he'd feel better if there was more blood. If he'd been ripped and torn apart. Perhaps he could've salved his conscience with a pool of blood instead of the small trickle there had been that had swirled away in a pink spiral fading down the plug hole as he'd stood shivering and sobbing in the shower afterwards.

The lack of blood, the lack of serious injury, and the sharp biting pain that had flared and then faded to a dull aching throb – Adam resented them all. He felt cheated in an odd way. This had been the worst thing he'd ever experienced, it had left his very soul sullied and beyond redemption. He should've endured torment. There should be blood spattered on the walls. He should be howling and screaming out his agony. The stillness, the quiet, the dull ache were all just – wrong.

Adam shivered, the midnight blue silk pyjamas that Taylor had given him to wear after his shower, saying that they matched his eyes, didn't do much to keep him warm. And Adam had noticed that even the shower, which had been as hot as he could stand, hadn't managed to warm him either. He didn't think he'd ever be warm again.

As he shivered the silken material flowed over his skin like liquid and made him think of hands and lips and a tongue marking his flesh. There were bruises and scratches and bite marks on his body, he knew that because he'd glimpsed them in the full length mirror before he'd turned away repulsed by the pathetic shivering creature he'd seen reflected there. But those marks were just physical though and would fade over time, although Adam was sure there would be plenty of others to take their place before too long. It was the unseen marks burnt into him by caresses and licks and kisses that hurt the most. Marks that weren't visible but he knew they were there nonetheless. He could feel them cold and putrid on his skin marking him forever as Taylor's whore.

As he felt Taylor beginning to stir on the other side of the bed Adam froze and squeezing his eyes shut he pretended to be asleep. He hoped his ruse would work, but as he felt the other man moving towards him sure that he was reaching out for him, he seriously doubted it. He just hoped he wouldn't fly apart at the first touch of those long, cool fingers that could grip and pinch and scratch or burn soft caresses into his flesh.


	20. Adam Chapter 11

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 11

Dutch could congratulate himself on being the model patient. Over the past two months he'd progressed so well that although he was still a resident of the psychiatric floor of the hospital he was no longer under lock and key. He was no longer secured inside his room and there wasn't a locked metal mesh door at the end of the corridor. He was even trusted enough to get metal cutlery at meal times, and was allowed into the day room to watch the television with the other patients. But hanging out with a bunch of strange people in their pyjamas watching the mind numbing mediocrity that was daytime programming wasn't his idea of a good time.

He mostly holed up in his room with some magazines and books that Doctor Bennett had brought in for him to read. He'd also become something of a sudoku whiz completing pages of the little math's puzzles to pass the time and wake his brain up a bit.

He still had one session of therapy with Doctor Bennett a day and he knew she was pleased with his progress. It was funny how much that pleased him. When she smiled at him, when she finished a session saying, _"That was really good Dutch. I think we've worked well today." _He would feel a little flutter in his chest and a smile would spread over his face. He needed it, the praise. The feeling that he was being good. It made him feel safe. If he were pleasing the person in charge of his life then everything would be all right; he'd stay in the light. Deep down inside of himself those thoughts worried him.

Of course he didn't tell Doctor Bennett about those thoughts. He didn't want to see that concerned little frown line that would deepen between her eyes when he said something he should've kept to himself. He needed to give a good impression. He needed to be the person she wanted him to be if he was ever going to get out of the hospital. And if there was one thing his experiences had taught him it was how to be what other people wanted him to be.

To this end he sacrificed his night light, the one Doctor Bennett had let him have after he'd told her about the darkness. A couple of weeks ago he'd handed it back to her at the start of one of their daily sessions with his most sincere smile, the one that was slightly lop sided and made the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly; the one Taylor had liked the best. He knew she'd asked the night staff to keep an eye on him for a couple of nights after he'd given it to her. He'd heard his door creak open a couple of times a night as a nurse would stick his or her head around the door and watch him for a couple of minutes. He'd become a very light sleeper so that they always woke him, but he'd also learnt not to give himself away. He'd learnt to keep his eyes closed and his breathing slow and even – sometimes it had worked and Taylor had left him in peace.

After a few nights though the visits had stopped and he had assumed Doctor Bennett was satisfied that he really was coping without the lamp now. She didn't know how hard it was for him lying in his bed night after night seeing shapes moving towards him in the darkness, hearing the whisper of words that should've been filled with love but were twisted and poisoned into something dirty and perverted. She didn't know how hard it was for him not to pull the covers over his head and curl up into a ball to try to hide from his ghosts. She didn't know how some nights he longed to creep his way across the cold, grey tiles of his hospital room floor and cram himself into a safe corner. All she knew was that he smiled his lop sided smile at her and said he was _"just fine" _in an easy, confident voice.

Dutch sighed and glanced up at the clock over the door to his room. For once he wasn't dressed in hospital issue scrubs. The day before Doctor Bennett had brought a large holdall with her to their session and had presented it to him looking so pleased with herself and eager for him to open it that he'd wondered what could possibly be inside it. When he'd pulled down the zipper and peered inside he'd found clothes, but not just any clothes but his clothes. Not the designer labels and silk underwear that Taylor had provided him with, but his old clothes from the time before the cell. Plain and basic and cheap, and he'd pulled each article of clothing carefully out of the bag and had run his fingers almost reverently over them all. To his stunned, _"How?" _Doctor Bennett had told him they were from Claudette.

He'd already acknowledged to himself that his house and his belongings were probably gone. After all a year is a long time especially if everyone thinks you're dead, but this was the first indication he'd had that maybe not everything was lost to him. Doctor Bennett had told him that Claudette had kept some of his things _"just in case"_ and the thought that maybe not everyone had given up on him had meant a genuine smile of pleasure had lit up his face for an instant.

Then the doctor had added in a carefully measured tone of voice that Claudette had hoped she could come and visit him. Dutch had continued to look through his returned clothing, a perfect way to hide his eyes that he was sure would show his fear and uncertainty. It was one thing to assure Doctor Bennett that Adam was gone, but would Claudette look at him and see the old Dutch, her Dutch? However, he'd known that if he'd refused to see her it would've looked defensive, like he had something to hide. So still seemingly absorbed in his returned belongings he'd shrugged his shoulders as casually as he'd could manage and had said, _"Sure, that'd be great."_ He'd given himself a few more minutes until he was sure he'd schooled his face into a properly optimistic and contented expression before he'd met Doctor Bennett's gaze again.

Now the time was almost here. The real test. Would someone who'd known him so well before, his ex-partner and one of his best friends, would she see Dutch the cop or Adam the whore?


	21. Adam Chapter 13

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 13

Claudette was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be hopeful that the past really could be put behind them and everything was going to be fine. Instead she felt uneasy. That nagging feeling that people experience when they know instinctively that something's not right. That feeling itched and gnawed away at the back of her mind giving her no peace and refusing to go away no matter how studiously she tried to ignore it. Suppressing a sigh she watched as a cab drew up at the curb outside and Dutch got out. Claudette was supposed to be happy because Dutch had finally been released from the hospital that morning, but as she watched him approaching the apartment building her sense of foreboding just grew.

She'd been visiting Dutch quite regularly for the past six weeks and he did indeed seem much better. He was definitely a million times better then the terrified stranger who'd looked at her with such horror just after he'd first been rescued. Even the underlying anger and unease she'd noticed at their next meeting had gone and for all intents and purposes the old Dutch was back. But something was different, something was incongruous.

She'd once told Dutch that he was a terrible liar and it was true. All his feelings were always written all over his face, there for anyone to read, and as she'd gotten to know him better she'd realised that his eyes were his most expressive feature and she could read him like an open book – much to his annoyance and her amusement. But that had changed. Dutch's expression was no longer open and guileless, now it seemed to Claudette as if he were wearing a mask. He would still smile, the corners of his mouth turning up, his lips curving upward, the corners of his eyes crinkling with tiny lines just a little, but it wasn't right. It was as if someone who'd never seen a smile had had one described to them and they were attempting to copy it. The facial muscles made all the right moves, but the warmth and feeling behind it was missing. And his eyes weren't the same anymore, usually now they were shuttered and guarded. But on the few occasions she'd caught him unawares or unprepared it was almost as if a stranger were inside him looking out at the world. Claudette shuddered at that thought.

She had confided her concerns to Dutch's psychiatrist Doctor Bennett who'd nodded and made some notes and had told Claudette how the family and friends of missing people often needed a period to re-adjust too when they re-entered their lives. Claudette wasn't convinced though and as she watched the lone figure approaching the building her apprehension grew.

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He'd been patient and he'd been good and at last he'd gotten his reward, he was out of the hospital. An outpatient with scheduled therapy sessions and a bag full of medication, but he was finally free to make his own decisions.

Claudette had wanted to come to the hospital to pick him up but he'd managed to dissuade her by telling her that he wanted, needed, to take that step by himself. He didn't feel bad that she'd looked disappointed, after all it had been the truth he really had needed to do it alone. He was taking back his life, deciding what he wanted to do with it and that had been the first step.

On the cab ride over to his new apartment that Claudette had arranged for him he'd spent most of his time gawking out of the window. He couldn't help it. So many people, so much life, the city, the very air seeming to buzz with it. It was strange that he'd forgotten how alive urban Los Angeles was. For just over a year he's seen so few different people he could count them on his fingers and not make it into double figures. Then the frantic rush of his rescue had so overwhelmed him that much of it was a blur. Even during his time in the hospital he'd gotten used to seeing the same staff members everyday, the same doctors and nurses. Yet out on the streets was such an infinite variety of people all busy with their own lives that it made his head spin, and for one crazy, frightening moment he had almost asked the cab driver to turn around and take him back to the hospital.

Yet here he was carrying the holdall of his clothes that Claudette had brought into the hospital for him walking up to his new home. He could see Claudette's face peering out at him from the ground floor window watching him, she was always watching him. Even from a distance, even if he couldn't read the expression in her eyes, he could see the tension in her stance. She hadn't been as easy to convince as Doctor Bennett had eventually been, eager as the doctor had been for success. The good doctor nearing retirement without ever reaching the dizzying heights of Chief of Psychiatry and then having this unpromising case of the mad detective dumped in her lap. The fact that Doctor Kim had dumped him on her probably thinking that he was heading for a straight jacket and a padded cell must have annoyed her, not that she'd ever let it show. Dutch really had liked her, it wasn't her fault that she didn't know he was something of a talented amateur when it came to abnormal psychiatry having studied it to make himself a better detective, and it wasn't her fault that he was more interested in escape rather than cure. He wanted out and she wanted to stick it to the man before she got her retirement party with crappy cake, a crappy present and a card filled with good wishes from people she didn't know.

He knew Claudette still watched him warily just waiting for him to slip up so she would have the proof she needed that he was…unbalanced.

He didn't trust her. He had once. Once he'd trusted her with his life. Once he'd trusted her to come for him. Once he'd trusted her never to give up on him. He'd been an idiot. She'd betrayed him. She'd said there'd been no leads, no witnesses, no motive, but he knew she just hadn't tried hard enough, no one had. If it had been him looking for her, he would never of given up no matter what Captain Aceveda or the department said. He certainly wouldn't have taken another partner.

As he got nearer to the building and he knew she could see him properly he carefully schooled his expression into something neutral. Although he had a bit of a hard time ignoring the doubting voice inside his head that whispered sadly that he was being unfair to Claudette, that she'd done her best and had had to move on. He pushed that voice away because it wasn't what he wanted to hear. His bitterness and distrust had been what had gotten him here. It was what had made him able to plan and manipulate his way to freedom, it was what held him together and he wasn't going to give it up just yet. He wasn't going to be weak again. It was his trusting others that had fucked his life up to begin with. It was much safer to simply rely only on himself. That way his escape plan would be a success.


	22. Adam Chapter 12

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 12

Picking at a non-existent thread on his chocolate brown sweater for the tenth time in as many minutes Dutch resisted the urge to get up and pace back and forth across the room. Instead he let out a long, slow breath and forced himself to relax, leaning his head against the back of his chair and stared up at the square, white tiles on the ceiling. He was so absorbed in counting the little indentations in each tile that when the tentative knock at the door came it made him jump.

Quickly scrambling to stand up Dutch mentally kicked himself for the slightly high pitched, slightly panicky, sound to his voice when he called out,

"Come in."

He felt a little better though when he didn't take a step back or flinch when the door swung open to reveal Claudette standing there.

For a moment neither spoke and Dutch thought that maybe Claudette looked even more nervous than he felt, and oddly that made him relax a little.

Waving his arm to indicate the other chair in the room he said in a much less strained and more natural tone of voice,

"Come on in Claudette. Sit down. I won't bite or freak out on you again…I promise."

He even managed to summon up one of his lop sided smiles for her, but his lame attempt at humour fell rather flat when he saw Claudette tense up at the allusion to their last meeting. But she did finally cross the threshold and come into his room, the door closing behind her. Dutch sat down in his own chair and was relieved when Claudette finally stopped staring at him as if she expected him to either disappear or fall apart, and crossed the room to the other chair and took a seat too.

There was silence for a moment and then they both spoke at once their words jarring against each other,

"How are you…"

"It's good to…"

They both abruptly broke off what they were saying and Dutch indicated for Claudette to speak interested to hear what she had to say.

"How are you feeling? Doctor Bennett says you're doing really well."

"She's right," Dutch assured her, "I'm feeling much better, more grounded… About last time Claudette I'm really sorry it's just…Well it's hard to explain…"

"That's okay Dutch. Don't worry about it I'm just so happy that you're…here…that you're alive."

Claudette's voice broke a little on that last word and made Dutch feel a little guilty. Because while Claudette was obviously pleased to see him all he could think about were the times when he'd been all alone and the darkness had worn her face and spoken in her voice taunting and tormenting him. He could feel panic rising up within him and gripped the arm of his chair so hard that his knuckles stood out stark and white against the pale green of the chair. He quickly released his grip and dropped his hands into his lap. He needed this meeting to go well. He needed Claudette to give a positive report back to Doctor Bennett, because Dutch had no doubt that the doctor would be questioning Claudette very closely to find out what she thought of him and his state of mind. So pushing the phantom Claudette away Dutch smoothed a hand down the front of his sweater and said,

"Thanks for the clothes Claudette. It was really good of you to think of it. It's good to have some of my own things to wear. But I'm curious, why? Why'd you keep them?"

"Didn't Doctor Bennett tell you?" Claudette asked.

Wanting to hear what Claudette's reasons were for himself he shook his head so she continued.

"I kept them…just in case. I never gave up Dutch I swear. I worked with the FBI; I worked on finding you in my own time. I was always looking for you. It's just…there was nothing. No witnesses, virtually no forensics, no motive that we could see."

Claudette looked earnest and sincere as she spoke, but Dutch couldn't keep a touch of bitterness from his voice when he replied,

"I don't doubt it Claudette. I always hoped someone would still be looking for me. It was just a shame no one found me a little sooner."

The smile that accompanied his words felt cold and brittle on his face.

He watched as Claudette's face fell a little at his words and tone and although he felt a little pang of conscience that he'd hurt her he also felt a degree of satisfaction too. He'd spent too long at the beginning of his captivity positive that he'd be rescued at any minute. As time had passed he'd spent too long trying to convince himself that they were still looking for him. The first few nights he'd spent with Taylor he'd spent too long silently praying that someone would come and get him. After his botched escape attempt and the time he'd once again spent locked up in the dark as punishment thinking he was to be abandoned to die there he'd finally, truly given up. The brutal pain he'd felt inside as the last grain of hope had died inside him had left him feeling raw and bloodied inside and it still echoed inside him now, it was a wound that had never healed. So if Claudette felt a little hurt by his attitude, he concluded it was nothing compared to what he'd felt when she hadn't come for him. Unable to resist rubbing salt into the wound he added in a deceptively light tone,

"Do you have a new partner?"

Claudette squirmed a little uncomfortably in her seat before she replied,

"Yeah, his name's Josh Yendall he transferred to The Barn from south side. He's young, a little green but he's a good cop…Look Dutch the department insisted I take a new partner, I resisted for months, I argued…"

Dutch interrupted her holding up his hand, and although he was taken aback by the betrayal he felt he hid it as he said,

"It's okay Claudette. I understand. I'm not judging you. Besides," he added trying to smile but finally failing to do so, "with me gone they needed their next best detective back in the game."

Claudette stared at him for a moment and Dutch finally managed to get his facial muscles under control. Because Christ, if he could manage to smile while a monster fucked him in the ass night after night then he could smile at someone who obviously had forgotten him no matter what she said. It just proved what he'd come to understand so well, one of the lessons Taylor had taught him – trust no one. Everyone let you down in the end.

She bought it, whether she actually believed his smile to be genuine or if she just desperately wanted to believe it, wanted to believe he didn't blame her he didn't know, and he found he didn't much care. He watched her relax slightly and she smiled back.

Dutch chided himself for allowing his bitterness towards the people who had failed to help him show. If he wanted to get Claudette on his side he'd have to do better than that. Remembering a conversation they'd once had when he'd asked Claudette how she could tell a witness was lying even if she couldn't understand the Korean the woman spoke, she'd replied, _"It's not what they say, it's how they say it." _So knowing that she was a great believer in body language Dutch forced himself to relax before he asked her with a small smile,

"I don't supposed you kept any of my CD's along with some of my clothes did you?"

"Sorry." Claudette said before adding. "But I think your ex Lucy has some of your stuff…Some photo albums and some letters I think."

"You've spoken to her?" He asked in surprise.

"Well yeah, you'd left her as your next of kin in your file so the department left the arrangements about your house to her."

"I never got around to changing it after the divorce." Dutch explained before snorting softly and saying, "I'm surprised she didn't just burn it all."

There was a silence between them then and Dutch thought Claudette looked a little embarrassed. They'd never really talked about the breakdown of his marriage and his divorce since it had taken place before his transfer to The Barn, but he didn't doubt that the department grapevine had filled her in on all the juiciest details.

Claudette finally broke the silence just when the weight of it was beginning to become oppressive,

"I could go and see her if you'd like. See what she has and get it back for you so that when…when you get out of here you'll have some familiar things to come home to."

The smile on his face was totally genuine then. Dutch liked the sound of that, the possibility that he might soon be leaving the hospital, because that's how he interpreted Claudette's words. He wondered briefly if she and Doctor Bennett had discussed the possibility of his being discharged and so knew he really had to make a good impression on Claudette since he didn't doubt now that she was spying for the good doctor and would be reporting back to her.

"That would be great Claudette I'd really appreciate it. I'm not sure if Lucy and me can be civil to each other yet so if you'd run interference for me I'd be grateful. It'll be good to have my own place again, you know once Doctor Bennett thinks I'm ready."

"I'm sure it won't be long Dutch. You're doing so well. Have um…have the Feds spoken to you about Fitzgerald yet?"

Dutch could hear the hatred and contempt in her voice when Claudette said Taylor's name, she virtually spat it out as if just saying the syllables was poisonous to her.

"Not them as such they told Doctor Bennett and she informed me during one of our therapy sessions. It was…well it was a shock but I guess a relief too. I mean I won't have to testify in court now and well I can just concentrate on me you know…just get on with getting better and putting it all behind me."

He didn't think he should tell Claudette that when Doctor Bennett had sat him down and told him that she'd been informed that Taylor was dead, murdered in jail by someone the FBI thought was in the pay of the Colombian drug's cartels, that he'd gone so pale the doctor had thought he was going to pass out. So had he for a few moments. He'd felt sick, all his strength had drained from his body at her words and it had taken everything in him to hold it together long enough to ask if they could skip the session and if he could go back to his room. Thank God Doctor Bennett had agreed after firmly telling him that they'd talk things through at their next meeting, and he'd managed to stumble back to his room without embarrassing himself. He'd saved that up until he'd locked himself in his bathroom and had pulled off his scrubs and gotten into the shower. Doing what he used to do when he was Taylor's prisoner, letting the hot water disguise his tears.

Even now he wasn't entirely sure whom he'd been crying for that day. For himself – the relief, the freedom, the slaying of his monster. Or for Taylor – his saviour from the darkness, the man who's every whim he'd tried to anticipate and fulfill, the man who had been able to bring him pleasure or pain.

Just thinking about it brought an odd kind of pain clawing at his heart and he suddenly needed to be alone.

"Um…look Claudette I don't want to be rude or anything, but I'm kinda tired so…"

He left the sentence hanging and Claudette immediately nodded saying,

"Of course, of course…I'll ah…make a move then." They both stood as she added. "It's been really great to see you Dutch…I've missed you so much."

Once more her voice broke as she spoke and Dutch took a step forward and a little awkwardly he embraced her gently. Claudette hesitated for a second before her arms wrapped around him and she hugged him.

Despite the fact that he really loathed to be touched by anyone, even casually, now and that this was the most intimate contact he'd had with anybody since that last night with Taylor, Dutch didn't flinch and he resisted the urge to push her away letting her break the embrace first and step away.

He smiled his lop sided smile at her until she closed the door behind her, and it stayed frozen there until he finally felt himself relax. He hoped the meeting had gone well and that Claudette would give Doctor Bennett a positive report. This was his escape plan and this time he was determined he wouldn't get caught, it wouldn't fail. This time he wouldn't have to prostitute himself to beg for forgiveness.


	23. Adam Chapter 14

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Chapter 14

Dutch had thought Claudette would never leave. She'd shown him around his new place, which was so small that that hadn't taken long and then had prattled on and on about colleagues from work, how they'd asked her to remember them to him. Then she'd broached the subject of his returning to The Barn, but he'd just brushed her off saying he wasn't sure what he was going to do yet and she'd seemed satisfied with his answer although he hadn't missed all the little concerned glances she kept sending in his direction when she thought he wasn't looking. He'd nearly added just for spite that she didn't have to worry he wasn't going to ask her to be his partner again, but he'd managed to bite his tongue. He was glad that he did since he felt much more relaxed now and much of the bitterness and anger he'd been harbouring had lifted.

After she had gone he'd quickly slipped out to the nearest Hertz and hired himself a car. If he wanted his freedom and to complete his escape then that was an essential part of his plan.

Then he'd spent an evening going through the boxes that Claudette had retrieved for him from Lucy. It was strange looking through it all, things that he hadn't seen in years, letters and pictures that had been assigned to the attic a lifetime ago. A time before darkness had become a living, breathing thing that would swallow you whole and could make you loose yourself inside it. A time before fear meant he gave himself body and soul to a monster, and a clever mouth and fingers would cause him to betray himself and orgasms ripped from him by the monster would spatter themselves across his skin branding him forever as something weak and dirty. A time before he lost himself in the filth and the dark and he had to become someone else just to survive. Looking at the photos of himself relaxed and smiling in the warm sunshine he knew that that wasn't the same person who looked out at him from the mirror these days. The Dutch in those photographs had ceased to exist the moment he'd opened his eyes to darkness.

He'd packed the letters and photos back into their boxes re-sealing them and pushing them away.

He'd been tired and had made his way into his bedroom where his new bed lay all made up with fresh linen. Hesitating for only a moment he eventually did what he'd been wanting to do all those nights when he'd lain awake pretending to sleep in Taylor's bed, and all those night when he'd lain awake pretending to sleep in the hospital. He pulled the pillows and comforter from the bed and dragged them across the floor and over into a nice safe corner. There he'd propped the pillows behind his back and wrapped himself in the comforter, and with the light still on he'd had the best night's sleep he'd had for a long time.

He'd risen early, before dawn, and had re-enacted a routine from the time before. When he'd had a difficult case, one that disturbed his sleep, and wouldn't leave him alone night or day, he'd driven out on the Pacific Highway to a place he'd come to with Lucy before they'd married. You could park your car and walk down a coastal path to a secluded beach. But when he needed the think, to clear his head, he stopped on the path and from the edge of the cliff top he'd stare out over the ocean and watch the sunrise, listening to the waves crash over the rocks below. It was soothing and tended to let him organise his mind, put things into perspective. That's where he stood now.

The first hint of daylight was already lightening the distant horizon as the mid-night blue of the night began to fade to a paler shadow of itself – a little like him, he thought with a slight smile. A breeze whipped in from the sea and his hair blew into his eyes until he had to reach up and brush it back. He never had gotten around to getting it cut into the shorter style he'd had before.

As he watched the sky lighten it was as if he felt some of the burden he carried lighten too. He could feel himself letting go of the bitterness that he'd been clinging to so hard. He'd thought he'd needed it to survive, but he realised he didn't need it any more.

Looking inside himself he examined what he found there.

He'd thought that Adam had saved Dutch, protected him. He'd thought that Adam had taken the worst of it so that Dutch didn't have to. He'd thought that when the time was right, when he was safe again, that Adam would fade away and Dutch would come back, take over completely, and he'd be normal. But Dutch was lost in the dark, too afraid to come out fully into the light again. Dutch wasn't able to reclaim his old life and he wanted Adam to stay, to pretend to be him like he had been doing in the hospital. The problem was that Adam didn't want to stay, he couldn't. He'd done too much, suffered too much.

Before the darkness he'd known who he was – Dutch the cop. Before his rescue when he'd been with Taylor he'd known who he was – Adam the whore. Now he was neither of those people. He couldn't be what everyone else wanted him to be, who everyone wanted him to be. He couldn't be the person he had been before the dark. The person they remembered when they looked at him. The person who had looked out at him from those photographs back at his apartment.

The struggle, and the trying, and the smiles were all becoming too much. He wanted, needed, to escape. He had to be free. That was all he'd ever wanted.

Looking out towards the horizon and the sky streaked red and pink and gold, the rim of the sun already rising and sending shimmers of golden light dancing across the crests of the waves, he let his eyes skim across the surface of the sea.

Him and Lucy had gone sailing a couple of time with friends of theirs back when Lucy hadn't needed a bottle of vodka to get through the day and he hadn't started looking at her and feeling disappointment and confusion. Some of those smiling photographs he'd been looking at the day before had been taken on those days. Lucy hadn't really enjoyed those days out on the water, but he had. The smell of the sea, the spray on his face, salt on his lips and tongue. The sharp snap of the sails as they caught the wind and billowed full, and the feel of the boat under his feet as it skimmed the waves bucking like something alive. Power barely reigned in, straining as if the boat wanted to fly. It had been invigorating. It had been real freedom.

Lost in the memory, his eyes caught up in the beauty of the ocean Dutch and Adam took the final step together and at last they escaped.

**THE END**

Author's Note: - I know I didn't put a character death warning at the beginning of this fic which was kinda naughty since I always knew how it was going to end, but I felt it would ruin the impact of the ending. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone.


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